Not So Smart After All
by Amindaya
Summary: If they're so smart, then why can't they figure out that they love each other? LightXRyuzaki. Alphabetical A through Z chapter titles, sort of like word prompts but with a continuous storyline.
1. Affluence

**Hello, all! This is my first Death Note fanfic. Before I start, I'd like to say a few things:**

**I got the idea for this alphabet thing from Angelike Riddle's _Letters of the Law_ (Legal Drug). In hers, though, each chapter is pretty much a stand-alone. This is a continuing story.**

**Like hers, it is written in one character's point of view, in this case Light Yagami's, and it is addressing another character, in this case Ryuzaki. It's set during the handcuffs and forfeit, so Light doesn't know he's Kira.**

**And guess what, they're both boys, and they're going to fall in love! If you're a homophobic who only wants to read this in order to be mean in your reviews, then don't even bother! Why waste your time? I'm sure you could find a different story of better interest to someone of your sensitivities.**

**Those of you who remain, don't expect explicit situations…because I can't even watch two people kiss on TV without blushing. Still, I consider this M, because they will, ahem, you know. It's not going to happen right away, because I don't see them randomly jumping each other out of nowhere…well, not until S, at least…. But there will be development of feeling here. I _will_ write A through Z, so this is going to be stretched out. If you have limited patience, then you might not want to invest your energies in such a long-term project.**

**Thank you; and I do hope you enjoy!**

**(I disclaim everything (and Angelike Riddle is a god among writers).)**

**-Amie**

**XXXXXX**

_Affluence_ \'af-lü-en(t)s\ 1 a: an abundant flow or supply: profusion b: abundance of property: wealth 2: a flowing to or toward a point: influx

I can only stare at a computer screen for so many hours on end before my mind starts to wander. You don't notice when this happens. If you did, you would certainly comment on it, saying that I _must _be Kira since I'm not devoting my full attention to the case.

I do want to catch Kira, but that doesn't mean that I'd like to be chained to this computer to do it. I'm _already_ chained to a cold machine. Namely, you.

There I go again. I know bitterness has no point, but that knowledge doesn't stop me.

I'm the most intelligent teenager on the planet, so why can't I figure you out? This should be easy for me. I've always been able to judge a person's character fairly accurately. You are the only mystery I've ever met.

Sometimes I think that we are alike. We seem to think the same way. When we discuss the Kira case, easily following each other's thought patterns, I can look at you and see a mirror of myself. You are what I might one day become.

There are those strange quirks that I dread developing, but mostly I like what I see.

I could enjoy living as you do. Having the power to mobilize police in every country, having enough wealth to construct an entire building…. I could never get bored of it. I do appreciate the finer things in life; though, unlike most pampered children, I don't find them necessary, only icing on the cake.

I smirk at the thought. Knowing your affinity for sweets, I am sure you would find that analogy amusing.

You see the look on my face and ask, "Is something wrong, Light-kun?"

"Just thinking," I reply smoothly, tapping a few keys to look busy. I would bet anything that your suspicion of me has just increased by a small percentage.

Which brings me back to my problem of not being able to figure you out. How can someone as intelligent as you, Ryuzaki, be so damnably annoying?

**Review? Pretty please?**


	2. Bane

_Bane_ \'bān\ 1 a: killer, slayer b: poison c: death, destruction d: woe 2: a source of harm or ruin: curse

"Such a serious face. Your thoughts must run very deep, Light-kun." Your repetitive use of my name hasn't escaped my notice. Your tone is almost patronizing, though your wide eyes make you appear so innocent.

I snort. You're just like a lawyer. You never ask a question to which you don't know the answer, and you never make a comment without having some sort of purpose. Are you trying to get a rise out of me? It won't work.

"Thinking is a serious business, Ryuzaki. Especially where Kira is concerned."

You stare at me for a moment, then, surprisingly, you turn back to your screen.

What? No remarks? I had expected you to say something along the lines of "Well, then why aren't you working?" I had already prepared a response.

How frustrating you are!

It's hard to take, this constant judgement from you. I am not Kira! I'm helping you to capture him, for goodness' sake! Or...well...when I'm not daydreaming, like I was doing just now.

Miffed, I turn back to my screen, intent on finding a new lead to prove just how dedicated I am. I hate that I have to prove myself to you. But then again, I've been doing that my entire life. I've always lived for competition.

I blink in surprise and hit a wrong key, summoning the surveillance footage to the computer screen.

I've just had an epiphany.

That's why you do it, Ryuzaki. That's your motivation.

It thrills you. There's nothing you like more than chasing after criminals and catching them. We're so much alike, so it must be true. If I can be the ace of my school and still be bored out of my mind, then it stands to reason that you wouldn't be content in a conventional setting, either. You would have done what I did: follow cases. I know from experience how immensely satisfying it it. Just like me, you're nothing without a challenge, and just like me, you found yourself drawn to the only thing that presented a challenge.

My eyes drift to you. No doubt you've noticed that I've stopped typing. No doubt you're completely focused on me, though you still stare at your screen, seemingly oblivious to me watching you.

I look at your too-relaxed posture that intends to lower another's defenses. I examine the way your toes twiddle childishly. You've created the perfect facade of vulnerability, and yet you are the most guarded person I know.

It pleases me to know that I've uncovered this small part of your psycological makeup. Now I know why you invited me to become a part of this investiagtion to begin with.

I actually can't believe I didn't figure it out sooner. What good is my high IQ if it doesn't help me with such things?

You say you don't want me to be Kira because I am your friend, but that's not true. You want to be right, of course, but that is not nearly as desirable as being _engaged_. Kira has presented you with the greatest challenge you've ever faced. He is your only source of woe, the only thing that stands in your way. Kira may be the one person you can defeat you.

What a paradox that he's your only reason to exist...

After all, what's the point of a hero with no adversary? Without a foe, Clark Kent would jsut be a very talented reporter with unnecessary eyewear.

"Why are you smiling, Light-kun?" you ask. You have still not turned to look at me directly, but you watch me vigilantly from the corner of your eye.

I look at my screen again. I don't want to let on that I know. I see the live footage from the security cameras and say the first thing that comes to my mind. "Misa is getting undressed."

I love the frown on your face. You're so good at predicting my behavior that when I do or say something you don't expect, I feel like I've won some silently recognized game that we're playing. A competition where the true victory will be proving that I'm not a psycopathic murderer.

You clear your throat. "I wasn't aware that you..."

Ryuzaki, are you at a loss for words?

My smile widens. "I'm not a pervert, but she is very beautiful."

"You've never expressed any feelings of the sort for her before now." Your voice is even, but I know your head is filled with rapid calculations. Does my sudden interest for Misa mean that I am planning a way to kill you? Or does it indicate that I am devising a way to escape from this prison? Have you missed something?

"I _don't_ have feelings, Ryuzaki. I am simply admiring something beautiful."

_I don't think you should be watching her. _I only halfway expect those words to come from your lips, and I am not surprised that they don't. It is clear to me that you don't see surveillance at an invasion of privacy, but as something necessary. If the situation were reversed, I'm sure I wouldn't say anything to you, either. I know the only reason you'd be watching would be to see if she did anything to implicate her as the second Kira.

I know you don't really believe that I was was smiling because she was naked.

You reach over for your phone and press a button. You hold the reveiver to your ear in that gingerly, delicate way of yours.

My eyebrows furrow as I hear Misa's phone ring through the speakers. She hurriedly pulls her shirt on and answers it.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Amane-san. Light would like to see you. I will release the lock on your door so that you may visit with him."

Her squeal of joy is loud enough to be heard even through the phone. She hangs up quickly, and I see her running to her door. You press another button. Another squeal as her door pops open.

"Why did you do that?" I ask you irritably.

Your wide-eyed innocence is so obviously fake. "You do not have to be embarrassed of missing your girlfriend. I understood your subtle hints, and am allowing this visitation...since you are too distracted by her at the moment to do your work."

"Bastard," I mutter as the door opens and Misa barrels in, tackling me in her characteristic manner.

"Hello Light-kun! Misa Misa missed you! Did Light-kun miss Misa?" she asks coyly. I glare at you, then surrender with a sigh.

"Yes."

Misa, the bane of my existence. You are so cruel, Ryuzaki. Maybe it is _you_ who are Kira. You seem to want my mental breakdown badly enough.

**XXXXXX**

**I changed the rating. Overall, I guess it's T, so I'll just put up individual warnings for each chapter. It would appear that not very many people read the M rated things.**

**If there are hidden meanings you were supposed to pick up on, I'll let you know at the end of the chapter. It's just no fun if you missed the irony.**

**'Kira has presented...unnecessary eyewear.' If Light remembered being Kira, then this whole thing would be worded very differently, huh? Instead of idly noting that Kira is Ryuzaki's bane, he would be maniacally ranting about how Ryuzaki is his bane, and he would cast _himself _as the hero and Ryuzaki the adversary instead of saying that Ryuzaki is the hero who's nothing without Kira. The way Light imagines Ryuzaki feels toward Kira is exactly the same way that Kira truly feels toward Ryuzaki.**

**Please review every chapter! You don't have to say much: I just like to know how many people are still reading. **


	3. Candy

**Warning: Naughty thoughts.**

**XXXXXX**

_Candy_ \'kan-dē\ ADJ 1: Crystallized sugar formed by boiling down sugar syrup 2 a: a confection made with sugar and often flavoring and filling b: a piece of such confection / V 1: to encrust in or coat with sugar; speci.: to cook (as fruit or fruit peel) in a heavy syrup until glazed 2: to make attractive, sweeten 3: to crystallize into sugar : to become coated or encrusted with sugar crystals: become crystallized into sugar

There are 2911 spots on Misa's polka-dotted dress. I know this because counting them was of more interest to me than listening to her prattle on for the past hour. You have spent that time utterly absorbed in her monologue, or at least pretending to be.

Damn you, Ryuzaki. I know you're silently laughing at me.

I yawn and Misa stops her tirade about nude modeling. "Are you sleepy, Light-kun?"

"Yes!" I hope that my desperation can pass for exhaustion. Misa seems to buy it, but you raise your eyebrows ever so slightly at me. "It's only eight-thirty, Light-kun."

"Oh, stop complaining, Ryuzaki. You keep him locked up and make him work all day. Of course he's tired." There are sparks in her eyes. The girl is envious of the fact that I'm chained to you instead of her. I remember when she called you a pervert for handcuffing us together. Your eyes bulged wider than normal at the suggestion that you were doing it because you wanted to.

I must admit I was also initially horrified; but looking at it from a more logical standpoint, the idea gained credibility. What better way to prove to you, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I am not guilty?

"I'll see you soon?" she asks, shooting you a poisonous, accusing glare.

"Yes Misa." I walk her to the door. Not to be chivalrous--just because I know you have to follow me. I hold the door open for her, but she ignores my hint and cleaves to me. I lock eyes with you as she attempts to crush my ribs.

There's that look again. The same careful gaze you employed during our visit with Misa. Analytical. I feel like a scientific specimen. It's like you're picking me apart with your eyes, trying to figure out how I work.

You always do this. You try to make me uneasy and paranoid. And I'll admit--though not out loud--that this time it works. I am the first to look away.

"Come on, Misa," I say, rubbing her back and hoping she sees it as a sign of affection, "time to go."

At first, she doesn't look like she is going to do as I say. But then, by some miracle, she lets go of me (I breathe again.) and steps outside into the hallway.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" she exclaims before I can close the door in her face. She squeezes her hand through the gap just in time. I can't bring myself to close the door on her arm as I might have done if it were you. Girls are so breakable. "For you, Ryuzaki, as a thank you for letting me visit my Light-kun."

I look down at what she holds in her hand and stifle a laugh.

A chocolate bar. She's trying to bribe you.

"Thank you Misa. Have a nice night." I take the chocolate from her hand and shut the door before she can say anything more. She tries to yell some last words through the door, but I pretend not to hear her. Finally, there is silence, and I can only assume that she has left.

I turn to you, to tell you what a bastard you are, but I am stopped dead in my tracks by the intensity of your expression. You, who have never show even the slightest hint of emotion, are now looking at me with..._desire_. I open my mouth to say something, but I am unable to speak. I can only give a sort of frightened yelp as you tackle me, knocking me on my back.

I look up at you as you lean over me, that gleam in your eye. You are on your knees, straddling my waist so that your knees touch the outside of my thighs and nothing else. Your hands support your weight. If you bent your elbows, you would lie on top of me. Our chests would touch. I would be able to feel every line of your body against mine...

"I _want_ it," you say, a note of longing in your voice. I have the unexpected, insane thought of _Yes_. My hands, moving of their own accord--in fact, completely ignoring the signals my brain is trying to send--reach up to pull you closer.

Somehow, before my fingers touch your skin, my brain begins to work again, and I notice that your eyes are not on my face. You are focused on my hands, which are stretched high above my head, still holding the chocolate bar.

In a flash, several things become clear to me at once. You are going to take this candy from me. You are going to move one of the hands that support you, and you are going to reach above my head to grab the chocolate, and in so doing you will lose your balance. The only way to regain it will be to shift your center of gravity.

You will sit down on me. And oh _god_ how much I want that to happen.

"Take it!" I yell. I thrust the chocolate at your chest, shove you off of me, and scramble to my feet. I stand as far away from you as our chain will allow. You look gleefully at your prize, not bothering yourself over the fact that my words came out in a moan, that I am breathing heavily, that my cheeks are tinged with pink, and that my pants are somewhat tighter than usual.

_What the hell was that all about?_ I think, trying to collect myself. I'm distracted by the sight of you putting a piece of chocolate to your lips, snapping off a piece with a quick _snap._ You close your eyes as it melts on your tongue, savoring the flavor. The look on your face is something akin to ecstacy.

My stomach tightens, and I curse.

Your eyes snap open and you look at me strangely. I hadn't realized I had spoken aloud. I turn away from you and say, in what I hope is an unbetraying tone, "I get the bathroom first."

I catch your surprised look from the corner of my eye. "You were serious?"

"Yes. I really am tired. Now can we go to bed?"

_No. Stop thinking!_ I yell at myself as the muscles of my stomach clench again. A haze of heat washes over me for a moment, and it is somehow centered in my groin.

I stop breathing as your eyes rake over my body: analyzing me, as you normally do...sizing me up, trying to find my weakness. Your eyes widen as you see what I have been trying to hide.

**XXXXXX**

**The part of the definition most significant to this chapter is 'To make attractive, sweeten'. Was this believable, in character? Too out of nowhere? You'll get something sexy almost every other chapter from here on out. Please tell me what you think?**


	4. Delude

**Delude** \di-'lüd\ _1:_ to mislead the mind or judgment of: impose on: deceive, trick _2 a: _frustrate, disappoint _b:_ evade, elude

You look away awkwardly. "Ah, I understand now."

"Shut up. You don't know anything." My reply sounds so juvenile, even to my own ears. I turn around and angrily yank on the chain as I make my way to the bathroom.

"I hardly think that outburst was necessary, Light-kun."

I ignore you, going to our shared dresser for a pair of pajamas. I rarely use them. At the end of the day, I barely have enough energy to do anything more than fall into bed. Not tonight, though. I am on edge, full of pent-up tension. I have to get out of these clothes. They're too tight, too warm.

I slam the door on the chain, flinching at the unpleasant clanking sound that results. The door bounces off the metal links, but then stops its swing. You are holding the door closed, I realize. You have never done this before. You've always been oblivious to the lack of privacy afforded by our situation. It makes me wonder what the hell you think I plan on doing in here.

I make it a point to change my clothes and brush my teeth as quickly as possible, all the while screaming at you in my head.

How dare you make assumptions?

My mind transforms the thought, stretching it to encompass other spiteful accusations: How dare you believe that I'm Kira? How dare you take away my freedom? How dare you, how dare you….

By the time I turn the bathroom over to you, my problem has disappeared, and I have to refrain from glaring in your direction with all the venom I possess.

I stand outside the door, listening to the little noises you make as you gurgle mouthwash. You're very thorough with your dental habits. You'd have to be--otherwise your teeth would have rotted out of your skull by now. Your lengthy cleansing gives me time to think.

The main question pervading my thoughts: _What the hell is wrong with me?_

The only possible explanation I can come up with is that I was caught by surprise. Lack of social interaction caused a sort of desperation that my body chose to vent at a very inappropriate time and in a very inappropriate way.

It was a perfectly normal reaction. It wasn't that I enjoyed it. I didn't want _you._ One can not expect a teenage boy to be handcuffed to another human being without feeling a certain confusion of identity. Not only was my reaction justifiable, it was _healthy_.

For goodness' sake, you tackled me! The adrenaline rush alone could have provided a rush to my system, creating the unfortunate side-affect of arousal. While I have never considered myself to be particularly attracted to danger, the seclusion of this imprisonment could very well have impaired my judgment for a brief moment.

I smile to myself. Yes, I've hit upon the root of it: sudden stimulation after a day of exhaustion.

I hide my smile as you exit the bathroom. You look at me strangely, and I know you are trying to decipher my body language. Not this time, Ryuzaki. I won't let you make me doubt my analysis.

As we climb underneath the covers as far away from each other as possible, and the lights give way to the comfort of darkness, I smile again, knowing that I am safe because you can't see. Though it wouldn't surprise me if your owl-like eyes were capable of night vision, logic tells me that you are just as night-blind as the rest of us.

What did you think, Ryuzaki, as you looked me over? What went on in that genius head of yours? I can't even begin to speculate.

And I don't care. Why should I waste time on this when is so incredibly unimportant?

It is a veritable truth that you believe with your entire heart and soul that I am Kira—nothing, not even evidence, will convince you otherwise. You are so preoccupied with my guilt that I am sure nothing else enters your mind.

You've allowed yourself to be caught up in this idea that the person you claim to be a friend, the person you are attached to, is a cold-hearted murderer who will one day kill you.

Perhaps you _need_ me to be Kira. Why else would you be so adamant?

The thought saddens me for reasons I can't articulate.

**XXXXXX**

**The way I figure it…if he can convince himself that killing people and becoming a god is what the world needs, then deluding himself into thinking he wasn't turned on should be a piece of cake! **

**Next chapter will be a very citrusy nightmare. It will up the rating, so you'll have to look under the M rated stuff to see if it's updated. (Or you could just make it easier on yourself and put me on your alert list, and review while you're at it, hint hint.)**

**Let's play 'Guess the chapter title!' What do you think the E word will be?**


	5. Empty

**I guess I lied…turns out this chapter isn't bad enough to be considered M. **

**Warning: yaoi.**

**XXXXXX**

**Empty **\'em(p)-tē\ ADJ _1 a:_ containing nothing _b:_ not occupied or inhabited _c: _unfrequented _d:_ not pregnant _e:_ null _2 a:_ lacking reality, substance, or value: hollow _b:_ destitute of effect or force _c:_ devoid of sense: foolish _3:_ hungry _4 a:_ idle _b:_ having no purpose or result: useless _5:_ marked by the absence of human life, activity, or comfort

**Empty** V _1 a:_ to make empty: remove the contents of _b:_ deprive, divest _c:_ to discharge (itself) of contents _2:_ to remove from what holds or encloses

**Empty** N, PL something (as a container) that is empty

The room is dark, lit only by the glow of your laptop. I see your face hover in the illumination, the only part of you that's visible. You look like a floating head, a ghost.

I shiver.

You notice that I have woken and turn your face to me. I know you can't see me, but your raccoon eyes search the darkness anyway.

"Ryuzaki?" My voice is a hoarse whisper. "You should sleep."

"I'm touched that you are so concerned, Light." I warm at your intimate use of my name, turning over and wrapping myself with a soft cloud of blankets. I am mindless with bliss, and can only respond with a contented sigh.

XXXXXX

"L is dead."

With those words, I know that I have been ripped apart, and everything ceases to matter.

"You're lying." My voice is so incredibly weak. How could this happen? Why could I do nothing to save you?

The shadow only laughs at me. It knows that it speaks the truth.

"Are you happy now?" it asks. "This is what you wanted."

"No!" I shout, over and over again, until it ceases to be a word and becomes a single, never-ending scream of despair.

XXXXXX

Your breath is slow and steady, ticking my skin each time you exhale. I cradle your head against my chest, smiling slightly. So this is what perfect feels like?

"What about Misa?" you ask quietly. Your eyelashes flutter against my skin, causing me to chuckle.

"Misa," I scoff. I look down at you and say, softer, "You're the one I want." And I smile, because now that I have you, I don't feel quite so desolate or so barren.

XXXXXX

"Yes, I am Kira," I admit. I've tried to deny it before, but what is the point of doing so now?

"I knew I wasn't wrong," you say. Why do you bother to pretend that you're sad? Why is your expression filled with such pain? I've stopped lying, so it only seems fair that you should, too.

Admit it, Ryuzaki. Just admit it.

I want to tell you something. I want to say _anything_, anything at all, but how can I do that when you won't even look at me?

What did I hope to solve by telling you? Really, what did I expect?

I reach out a hand to you, but you jerk away from my touch. You turn and walk down the tunnel, your footsteps echoing against the walls, and I can only look after you. I cannot even bring myself to call your name.

I know what it is now.

But what does that matter?

XXXXXX

"Don't," I whimper as you trail light kisses down my neck. You shift your grip to free one of your hands; the other keeps my wrists pinned. You brush the free hand over my chest, across my stomach. "Stop."

"I don't want to." Your hot breath on my ear makes me shudder.

"_Please._" I am not so sure what I'm begging for anymore. Your hand is caressing the tender skin below my navel, and all I can do is gasp at the feeling. I arch up into your touch, my body wanting more although my mind rebels.

"Do you really want me to?" you ask huskily, your lips pressed against my neck.

I moan louder, your hands driving me crazy. I can't concentrate on anything—my mind is a blank, completely occupied with the feelings you're providing me with.

"Don't stop," I beg.

XXXXXX

I open my eyes, and the heated visions abruptly wash away. It takes my brain a moment to adjust to the new sensory input. Slowly I come to realize that it was just a dream. Thank goodness I woke up before…

I shift slightly, with the intention of sitting up, but the movement inadvertently causes me to brush against the bed. I exhale quickly and then suck in a sharp breath, my eyes rolling into the back of my skull and my eyelids fluttering shut as the pleasurable feeling overwhelms me.

I settle back against the bed, my eyes still closed. I don't dare move again. It's all I can do to just breathe normally.

Images still run through my mind. My dreams continue in my imagination.

The sound of a throat being cleared makes my eyes snap open. I turn my head to the side and see a sight that makes my blood cool faster than if I had stepped foot in a blizzard with only my underwear to cover me and provide warmth.

You are lying next to me, and your dark eyes are wide open, staring at me with what I can only define as curiosity.

**XXXXXX**

**Sorry if it was confusing. You usually have five or six dreams a night, although not all of them are memorable. If I had just wrote the last one, this chapter would have been way too short. The next chapter will be in a more conventional format.**

**The main definition you should have paid attention to is Adj, 2a: lacking reality, substance, or value. There's a loose relation to the title word in each little dream sequence, though you have to squint really hard to see it.**

**Guessing game results**

**Most popular: Erotic (3)**

**My favorite: Euthanasia (1)**

**No winners, but keep trying! I'll give you a hint…F will deal with the aftermath of Light's dream. **

**Review, pretty please? I really need feedback, because I'm incredibly insecure about my writing. Nitpick on every little detail, if you will.**


	6. Fatigue

Warning: This was sort of pushing it on the T rating, so I upped it to M.

**Fatigue **\fə-'tēg\ N _1 a:_ labor _b:_ manual or menial work performed by military personnel _c pl:_ the uniform or work clothing worn on fatigue and in the field _2 a(1):_ weariness from labor or exertion _(2):_ nervous exhaustion _b:_ the temporary loss of power to respond induced in a sensory receptor or motor end organ by continued stimulation _3:_ the tendency of a material to break under repeated stress

**Fatigue** V _1:_ to weary with labor or exertion _2:_ to induce a condition of fatigue in: tire

**Fatigue** ADJ _1:_ consisting of, done, or used in fatigue _2:_ belonging to fatigues

* * *

I swallow audibly. Your hair is messy from sleep, casting a shadow over most of your face, but I can still read the curiosity as if it were written there. I know you've made a conscious effort not to hide it, and that thought is what disturbs me the most.

"You're awake," you say, and you almost sound disappointed, a tone I've become familiar with. I think that you secretly hope I'll die in my sleep one night and spare you all the trouble.

I sit up, moving away from you in a way that I hope you don't notice. I move the blanket so that my arousal isn't so obviously outlined against the material, and look back at you.

"Good morning," I say lamely. You don't sit up or even blink, and I am beginning to feel very uncomfortable. Then again, that's always been your goal. It's my own fault that I've made it so easy for you this time.

"Good morning, Yagami-kun. Did you sleep well?" Your tone is nonchalant, but your eyes are laughing at me.

"Actually, no." I am not well-rested at all. I could still go back to sleep for a few hours, but of course that's out of the question. You can't bother wasting precious time Kira-hunting on something as trivial as sleep. "I had a nightmare." The truth, in a way. I had always been able to recall most of my dreams with perfect clarity, and I knew I had dreamed of unpleasant things over the course of the night.

Then there were the more pleasant dreams. I shudder at that thought, remembering the feel of your hands on my skin, and of course you notice.

"It looked to me like you were having an erotic dream."

I nearly choke on my breath. "_Looked_ to…you mean you were _watching_? Why didn't you wake me up?" Why doesn't that disturb me as much as it should? Why does it make me harder? I want to hide my face in my hands, but I don't want to give you the satisfaction. I glare at you stubbornly, waiting for your answer. You take your time.

"Oh, well…you seemed to be enjoying yourself. I didn't want to disturb you."

I shiver. Yes, I really did enjoy everything you did to me.

You mistake my blush for embarrassment and can't resist further goading. "After all, you said numerous times, 'Don't stop.'"

My blush disappears as all the blood drains from my face. "W-What else did you hear?"

"Many things. You are surprisingly vocal, Yagami-kun."

I turn away so that you can't see my mortified expression. The panic bubbles in my chest as I try to come up with a way to explain this. I swallow my embarrassment and make my voice even and somewhat cold. "Ryuzaki, it was just a dream. You know that I have never given any indication—"

"I understand," you interrupt. I am speechless. You have never done that before…you always give me ample time to say something potentially incriminating. You seem perfectly content to put this out of your mind, and for that I am grateful. You may be insufferable at times, but at least you understand the sensitivity of this situation.

Sensitivity. Oh god.

I clear my throat. "Ryuzaki?"

"Yes?"

"Could you…undo the chain?" I ask pathetically, already knowing what your answer will be.

"You know I can't do that, Yagami-kun."

I sigh. "Yes, I know." I valiantly try to ignore the aching between my legs, but I soon come to the conclusion that it won't go away without help. "It's just that, well, I need to…" I clear my throat again. I know my face is turning pink. Damn blood circulation. "It's unhealthy to leave it…unattended."

I chance a glance in your direction, only to find you staring at me as if you question my sanity. "Think of your grandmother."

I gag, spluttering, "N-No!"

You sigh and say, "I can't undo the chain. I suggest you find _some_ way to get rid of it."

We're both intelligent young men and we can't even say it. It's sort of funny that you can accuse me of being Kira until you're blue in the face but when it comes to something sexual you completely shut down.

Forget that. It's not funny at all. You are still looking at me, and I am still incredibly turned on, and I don't think I could do anything to make it go away, even think of my grandmother.

I cringe involuntarily at that.

I yank on the chain. "Come on. I'm going in the bathroom."

You look at me in disbelief.

"Not a single word from you," I warn.

You get to your feet reluctantly. "Just hurry up." If possible, you suddenly seem even more humiliated than I am.

You hold the door closed again, just like last night, but I don't want to take any chances, and I lean back against the door. I slip my hand under the elastic waistband of my pajamas, gasping when my fingers meet heated flesh. I can't remember the last time I did this…can't remember the last time I even wanted to, besides last night.

I don't want to think about why that is.

My hands start to move faster, and soon it has become very difficult to keep quiet. I bite my lip to hold back the sound, not wanting you to hear me but simultaneously exhilarated by the idea.

"This is…awkward, Yagami-kun."

"Shut up!" Then, because I've already opened my mouth to yell at you, I can't close it quickly enough to hold back the next moan, which just so happens to be loud enough to echo around the bathroom, and I have to hear it more than once.

My whole body is shaking, and I pump faster and harder. Right before I fall over the edge, an image pops into my mind, completely unbidden and yet startlingly vivid.

Suddenly it is your hands that are touching me, and I cry out. The exclamation is pure pleasure. I couldn't stifle it if my life depended on it.

I fall to the floor, spent, utterly exhausted.

* * *

"Let's _never_ mention this to anyone." I don't look at you. I can't—not after what I just did. Not after thinking what I did.

You pause, and I can tell you're regarding me in that intent way of yours, missing nothing. When you speak, your voice is completely serious, if not a little regretful. "Yagami-kun…you do remember that I have to watch the tape later?"

My mouth falls open, and my head whips around. "You wouldn't."

"I have to," you say grimly, "unless you would rather Watari did it."

I consider this for a moment. That's how low I've fallen. I curse, throwing my arm over my face. "I'm so tired of this," I say. I wish my voice didn't sound so weary, so weak, but I suppose it can't be helped. "I'm not Kira. You see what isn't there, Ryuzaki. Do you honestly think I was doing Kira-like activities in that bathroom?"

"No. I heard you," you remind me quietly. And at the moment, that's the last thing I want to be reminded of. I hate you so much right now. Why can't you believe me? Why can't you…

"You have got to be the biggest closet pervert I've ever met," I bite out.

There is no response, only silence.

* * *

**Guessing Game Results**

Most Popular: _Fantasy_ (4, given by alisa, randomperson, StarRuby, and Silver on the Tree) and _Façade_ (4, given by alisa, XxReiYoukaixX, BlackRose581, and Hiyami)

My Favorite: Fancy (1, given by Nocena T. Calamus) Just imagine L saying, "I fancy you." And then Light looking down at himself and going, "Yeah, I do look pretty fancy tonight."

No winner, but keep trying. Next one's easy, so I can't give you a hint. Please try to limit it to three guesses per review, because some of you are throwing out like five words and it's sort of unfair.

Thanks for all the reviews so far! Tell me if they're still even mildly in character, or if this chapter totally ruined it. Please please _please_ keep reading? And reviewing? Reviews make my day!


	7. Guilt

**CONGRATULATIONS!**

_This chapter is dedicated to_: Fallan Phantem and tenouharuka101

(You should have guessed guilt, Katybear.)

* * *

**Guilt **\'gilt\ N 1: the fact of having committed a breach of conduct esp. violating the law and involving a penalty; broadly: guilty conduct 2 a: the state of one who has committed an offense esp. conspicuously b: feelings of culpability esp. from imagined offenses or from a sense of inadequacy: self-reproach 3: a feeling of culpability for offenses

You don't answer, and it doesn't appear you are going to. I wonder what is going through your head. Has my response increased my guilt in your eyes?

I don't understand how you can find fault with my reasoning: you really are a pervert, even if unintentionally.

Voyeurism, Ryuzaki. You placed cameras in every room of my house, watched my family's every move. You keep a diligent eye on Misa. You insist on standing outside the shower door as I wash myself (though I do admit it would be impossible for you to do otherwise, chained to me as you are).

But Ryuzaki—you are chained to another man. No matter how necessary to prove my innocence, it's _disturbing._ And what, after all, is the meaning of perverse? Improper, unreasonable, and unaccepted. It describes you perfectly.

Your face is expressionless as you change your clothing. You replace your white long-sleeved t-shirt with a new one. It is your uniform. I wonder sometimes if you simply can't be bothered with choosing something to wear—if, like sleeping, it takes time out of your precious day. If you dressed in different clothing, I wouldn't recognize you.

"Come, Yagami-kun," you say in your offhand tone. You purposely make your voice sound disinterested and distracted, but it never fools me.

I follow you into the other room, ready for another long day of searching and hacking. You place one foot on the swivel chair in front of your computer, and then sink into your customary sitting position. I've never seen your rear make contact with the seat of that chair.

Within a few minutes, with no further exchange of words, you are deeply absorbed in the information of your computer screen, and my fingers are flying across the keys of my keyboard as I compare several invoices of a company that stands to benefit from the recent Kira killings.

I know you are watching me, as usual, from the corner of your eye.

And as usual, I am thinking, even as I devote much of my attention to my work.

I need answers. How can I begin to understand your thought processes if I'm not sure of my own?

I rewind my memory to yesterday, to the moment when Misa left. I had the chocolate in my hand, and you saw it. Your love for all things sweet is nothing new. While such an extreme reaction was totally inappropriate (perverse), I should have known it was the chocolate you were after.

But that didn't occur to me at first, so I must ask myself: what did I think you were after, and why did I think that?

This requires objectivity. If I let my personal opinions influence me, I know I will never figure this out.

I recall that image of you right before you tackled me. The hungry look in your eyes.

And suddenly it is obvious that I assumed you were hungry for _me._

It is just as obvious that I wanted you to be.

But why? Why, when you were on top of me, just barely touching me, did I crave even more contact?

I've been over this once before, but I realize my reasons then were rationalizations. I'm behaving just like you now—focusing on what I want to be true, rather than what is.

Unacceptable.

Ineffably, you didn't intend to arouse me—and yes, I was aroused. This is evident in your lack of contact as you reached for the chocolate above my head. You merely wanted me under your power, wanted the chocolate so badly that you wouldn't take no for an answer. You pinned me down so that I couldn't possibly keep it from you.

It makes sense that you would resort to such measures, because I know I would not have given it to you…and you must have known that as well.

Good. Moving on.

The dreams: what on earth prompted them?

The chocolate incident, of course.

Dreams are the subconscious, working out the problems of the mind. The chocolate incident confused me, so my mind felt the need to explore that confusion through the dreams. This is proven by the wide range of interactions between us. Friendship, death, love, and sex. My mind explored different situations in an effort to come to terms with the situation.

So I know that it meant nothing, nothing at all.

But do you?

Because I was aroused in my dream, I was also physically aroused. It is unlikely that you knew you were the reason, so I don't need to worry about that.

What I do need to worry about is that last image as I masturbated, of your hands on me.

The explanation is simple. I recalled the dream, the reason for my arousal in the first place, and the memories themselves caused the pleasurable sensation. I simulated the feeling in the dream and that just happened to involve you.

It's settled. Except for one thing: my final transgression, that immature insult to you. Calling you names like a child—what the hell was I thinking? Such a loss of control on my part is intolerable.

I can shove it aside as a common tantrum—perfectly understandable, as I was confused. I was just lashing out, pushing you away because I didn't understand my own behavior.

You are hard to deal with sometimes. I just needed time on my own to think, without your oppressive interrogating. Now that I have had that time, I realize that the insult was uncalled for, even if it may be true.

I'm sorry. I want to say it out loud, but of course I can't, because you don't know precisely what I'm sorry for. I regret allowing my mind to stray from this case. I regret even questioning myself—if I do that, then what use am I to you and this investigation?

I clear my throat. My father raised me with morals, and I know when to admit that I was wrong. "Ryuzaki, I…"

I am interrupted by the buzz of the door that indicates someone is entering. I look to the surveillance monitors and see that the other members of the task force have arrived.

You turn to me, questioning. Somehow I can't bring myself to say anything more when I know we will have company in a short time.

"It's about time they got here," I snort.

I ignore your stare and turn to greet my father as he opens the door.

* * *

**Guessing Game Results**

Most Popular: _Guess_ (3, given by StarRuby, Yeyana Valentine, and Katybear) and _Game_ (3, given by StarRuby, forbiddenlover, and crazed yaoi fangirl)

My Favorite: Gay (1, given by Daniela Lynx)

Winning word: Guilt (2, given by Fallan Phantem and tenouharuka101)

Thanks for playing! You two winners are allowed to continue guessing, since there's no limit to how many times you can win! (Heh, did I just sound like one of those ring-toss guys at the carnival or what?) Again, congratulations.

Hint for H: L is still a bit mad at Light.

**Review, pretty please with a cherry on top? Still not convinced? Okay, how about with an L on top? Now how can you resist? I bet you Light would be pretty pleased with an L on top…**


	8. Hoard

**Hoard **\'hō(ə)rd\ N a hidden supply or fund stored up

**Hoard** V _1:_ to lay up a hoard of _2:_ to keep(as one's thoughts)to oneself

My father catches sight of us sitting as far apart as our chain will allow, and I can see the disappointment manifest upon his face. He is almost as opposed to this form of confinement as Misa is, but for different reasons.

He is confident that I am not Kira, and it pains him to see me suffering because of your stubbornness. Seeing his stress bothers me more than actually being chained to you.

He says nothing regarding our obvious tension, instead holding up a box from the local bakery. "Ryuzaki, we brought something for later." There's a small strawberry sticker on the front. You notice this, and your eyes widen. You are seemingly oblivious to my father's rigid tone.

"Later?" you ask, perking up immediately. I shoot you a glare, but you don't notice. You are already on your feet, moving toward the confection. My father very wisely sets the cake on the table and positions his body so that he is hiding it from view.

"Yes. We'll work harder with an immediate reward to look forward to."

I halfway expect you to say that the only reward would be catching Kira, but I suppose you love cake too much.

"Of course," you agree, but you look put out as you return to your computer chair. The others take their seats. I am thankful when Matsuda sits on the other side of you, quickly claiming your attention as he tries to login. He's spelled his name wrong, substituting the _U_ for a _Y_. You point out the mistake and he marvels at it for several long moments.

Oh well. Matsuda may be an idiot, but at least he can laugh at himself.

* * *

You can't wait until the end of the work day. At lunchtime, you insist we cut into the cake. "It will give us motivation to work harder after lunch, Yagami-san," you argue. "A pick-me-up."

My father frowns, but relents. Nobody trusts you to divide the cake equally, so that task falls to Mogi. He sets a slice of cheesecake in front of me. The filling looks congealed, almost slimy, and the thick strawberry topping smothers the slice. I think it looks disgusting, but you are ridiculously happy with your piece.

Holding the fork as if it might come alive and bite you at any moment, you spear a slippery strawberry and bring it to your lips. The plastic fork disappears in your mouth and your eyes flicker closed as you savor the taste, blocking out all other sensory input to focus solely on that one sense.

I realize I am staring and look back to my screen.

Although I prefer to eat healthy, I don't want to offend my father by not touching my cake. Just a few bites, and then I can say that I am full. Father knows that I don't have an appetite for sweets, and a few bites will appease him.

I reach out for the edge of my plate, but my fingers find only table.

I look to find the paper plate balanced precariously on top of your knees, steadied by the thumb and forefinger of your forkless hand. Your eyes bore into me as you place another forkful of my cake into your mouth.

I can't respond for several minutes, taken aback by your audacity. Is this another test to see if I'm Kira? If so, it's not very logical. What kind of a detective outs the criminal with cake?

No. There must be another reason for this.

Satisfied with my reaction for whatever reason, you turn back to your work. The others didn't notice this little taunting exchange, but for some reason I can't let it go.

By not demanding my cake, did I show weakness? Has your suspicion of me risen? For that?

Say something, dammit! Don't just sit there hiding your thoughts from me, curled up in that protective little ball of yours, looking like a porcupine with your spiky hair. You never let anyone in.

You say you can't think when you sit normally, but I know it's because you feel too vulnerable to think properly. You hide yourself from the world.

But why?

It's the question I always return to, and the one I can never seem to answer.

I can only speculate, only make guesses as to the reason for your strange habits. My theory is just that…a theory…but it has merit in my mind.

I think sugar offers you comfort. I've noticed that your work is more productive if you have something sweet in front of you, so I've concluded that it stimulates you. Like your peculiar way of sitting, it allows your brain to function better.

Maybe you were denied the common comforts of life when you were a child. Perhaps you were raised in an environment in which candy was not easily accessible. This would certainly explain your aversion to socks and shoes—as a child, you were unable to afford them and became accustomed to going without.

It's a classic example of personality type seven, the Enthusiast. It would account for the oral fixation that you seem to have.

Really, why else would that thumb of yours rest so consistently between your lips?

I know from my studies of the Enneagram that things involving the mouth give Sevens great pleasure—things such as eating, drinking, talking, smoking, and kissing. Though I'm not sure you smoke, and it wouldn't surprise me to find out that you've never been kissed.

My theory, however questionable, would explain your obsession with candy, because Sevens are often gluttonous.

Or maybe I'm overanalyzing. Maybe you just took my cake because you're a selfish bastard.

After all, you're not energetic enough to be a Seven. Your emotionless façade and careful voice makes it more likely that you are a One. The Reformer—the most dangerous personality type of all—is so moral and self-righteous that he can convince himself that his evil acts are for the good of the world.

Yes, that personality fits you quite well. Moral and righteous, aloof and detached, and completely above everyone else.

I sometimes wonder if you insist that I'm Kira because you're really the murderer and I'm just a convenient scapegoat. You've accumulated all these false suspicions so that it won't seem so odd when you devise some way to pin me with more substantial evidence later.

"Yagami-kun, you're going to break the furniture," you say. I relax my grip on the edge of the desk, controlling my expression as I turn to look at you. I avoid your eyes for some reason, finding another place to look. My eyes dart to the screen behind you and my mouth falls open.

I'm not the only one who has seen. Matsuda gazes at the screen in confusion. "Is that the security tape, Ryuzaki?"

You nod. "Yes, of last night."

"Light, it looks like you're having a nightmare," my father observes.

"No way! Light?" Aizawa asks skeptically. He sees the screen. "Wow, he really is."

It doesn't take long before every member of the task force is gathered in front of the screen, in wonder at my subconscious change of character.

I feel my anger flare. Is it really so strange to think that I would have a nightmare? Do I really come off as impervious? It shouldn't surprise them…I'm only human. But they look at my pained expression as if they can't believe I would succumb to such a thing.

Then, very abruptly, their mildly amused chuckles stop. Matsuda's teasing sentence of "Poor Light-kun" trails off into silence.

"Er…Light?" my father asks. I look at the screen, and my heart stops.

I have just been thrust into a waking nightmare.

* * *

AN: Gosh, Light is becoming quite obsessed with him, huh? I wonder when he'll realize it….

In the next chapter…actual dialogue! I know, this story has been lacking in dialogue, but it will get better, I promise.

Light's a One, no doubt about it. The Enneagram is fascinating, and it's really helpful to know your number. (I'm a Seven with a six-wing.)

I feel like a plagiarist, so I'll cite the work from which I gathered this information: Personality Types: Using the Enneagram for Self-discovery by Don Richard Riso with Russ Hudson. It's pretty cool…you should check it out.

Also, I have a fictionpress account under the same name (Amindaya). I'm writing a slashy story that some of you might find interesting. It's under romance, and it's called Blind Yourself. I'd appreciate it if you'd take a look and tell me what you think, if you're on fictionpress too.

* * *

**Guessing Game Results**

My Favorite: _Hamartia _(1, given by Eadha Ohn) This is the best guess I've gotten so far. It means fatal flaw. I was super duper impressed.

Most Popular: _Hate_ (7, given by Nefarious Imp, ghostsofanime, Fallan Phantem, Katybear, KirinGlomper, seelenspiel, Kyo and Sinclair, and tenouharuka101)

No winners this time. Thank you guys for the 100 reviews, though I know that this guessing game has a lot to do with it…keep them coming, please? I like to know what you think.

If no one gets the _I_ word right, I think I might cry—it's _that_ easy.


	9. Innocence

_This chapter is dedicated to:_ **crazed yaoi fangirl**

**

* * *

**Wanna hear something sad? I haven't updated this in so long that I had to go back and reread the end of H because I forgot where I left off. Sorry about that…hopefully I'll be speedier this time, but please be patient with me. The chapters get more difficult to write from here on out. 

Please note that this chapter is NOT proofread. I do believe this is my longest chapter yet.

**

* * *

Innocence** \'in-ə-sən(t)s\ N _1 a:_ freedom from guilt or sin through being unacquainted with evil: blamelessness _b:_ chastity _c:_ freedom from legal guilt of a particular crime or offense _d (1):_ freedom from guile or cunning: simplicity _(2):_ lack of worldly experience or sophistication _e:_ lack of knowledge: ignorance _2:_ one that is innocent _3:_ bluet (It's a plant…don't ask.) 

"What are you _doing_?" my father asks in horror. He stares at the screen like it's a traffic accident, too awful to look away. The others seem to be similarly transfixed, with you being the only exception, but that doesn't surprise me; you've seen it before. You're the only one who isn't glued to the screen, instead glued to my face to see my reaction.

But I can't take my eyes off the screen either.

Not very many people have the luxury of watching their own demise. I feel like I'm watching myself dig my own grave, and in respect for my life I can't bring myself to look away.

The footage is in full color, and once Matsuda realizes what he's seeing, he eagerly increases the volume so that every noise captured by the microphones is available for our listening pleasure. I am able to see my face very clearly as my lips part and a gasp issues forth.

"_Don't_."

Oh god. Kira, kill me now.

This dream is the one I recall with the most clarity, the one that plagued me just before I woke up. I know exactly what they are going to see, what is going to happen, but that doesn't make it any easier when it does.

"_Stop,_" the taped version of me begs, but it is obvious to everyone in this room that I don't want it to stop at all. My fingers claw at the covers, too limp with sleep to get a firm hold but enough that I see you on the screen scoot away to give me more room. Your back is pressed against the wall, your perpetually messy hair casting a shadow over your face that makes your expression unreadable.

I watch with mounting horror as my head rolls back against the pillow, offering my neck to my dream lover. Thanks to the high definition screen, the pinkness of my face is very noticeable, as is the tent in the blanket.

"_Please!_" My hips give a single thrust upwards.

Never in my life have I wished more fervently to have a heart attack.

"That's quite enough," I insist, finding my voice at last. I am greeted only by silence as the others continue to watch my prone form on the screen, twisting and whimpering. I see myself suddenly clutch the covers tightly and a loud, throaty moan comes over the speakers. "Ryuzaki!" I yell over the noise. "This is _private!_ Dad! Make him stop!"

"_Don't stop._"

"See there, Light? The you in the video begs to differ," Matsuda teases. He groans in protest as you cut feed to the screen. "Now why did you go and do that?"

"It was over," you say simply. I can tell that you're looking at me, even though you're speaking to Matsuda. I'm distracted by my father: he appears to be choking.

"Dad, are you alright?" I ask in concern. It is very, very difficult to keep the rage in my voice from overriding the concern. Even though my father looks as if he's about to keel over any minute, all I really want to do is choke the life out of a _certain_ saucer-eyed detective. Somehow I control myself and place a comforting hand on his shoulder as he draws in breath and tries to act like that little display didn't bother him.

You will just _not_ shut up.

"There's no need to be embarrassed, Yagami-kun. It's only natural. You're eighteen years old—it's expected for a young man to have erotic fantasies. Especially one such as yourself, with your very competitive streak, to dream of being dominated."

"_That's not—_"

"Please, can we not discuss this any further?" interrupts Father. He is glaring in your direction, but I still can't bring myself to look. "Really, Ryuzaki, what was the point of that?"

I remember that tone of voice. When I was very young, he used to use it to show his disapproval of my actions, on those rare occasions that I was caught doing something wrong. I'm not surprised when you don't quiver in fear—it wasn't terribly impressive even when I was eight.

"Oops," you say flatly. You bring your thumb to your mouth and bite the pad gently in thought. "It seems I showed you the wrong segment."

I very abruptly overcome my aversion to looking at you. _You have got to be fucking kidding me._

"Whoa, Light. Close your mouth. You don't want to catch flies," Matsuda jokes. I plan on telling him exactly where he can shove his flies, but you grab my attention as you turn once more to the screen and press a button to bring up another image. You press play and sit back in your chair, placing your hands on your knees.

It is at once obvious that I'm not aroused, but there is a small smile on my face and I look completely unguarded. I look almost childlike, guileless; it's almost like I'm seeing a different person.

And then I hear what it is you must have wanted us to hear.

"_Misa."_

I freeze on instinct. I remember this dream clearly, as well. I know the context of that word, but I also know what you must think, and what the others will automatically assume. My deep slumber somewhat dampers my voice expression. My voice isn't strong enough for you to be able to discern a real emotion, more like a whisper, really, but it's enough.

The smile on my face, my contented sigh...you'll think I'm in love with Misa.

In the video, I continue with only a momentary pause, "_You're the one I want_."

I look around, very pleased at the awestruck countenances of the other task force members, including my father…as if this confession somehow reconciles the fact that I dreamed about sex.

I am thrilled. After all, my dismissive grunt could be taken as passionate, or at the very least mildly affectionate. I watch you carefully to see if you're fooled, but of course you give nothing away.

Why are you doing this, Ryuzaki? What is your plan?

I can't see your face in the video, but your eyes as you look at the screen are strangely blank. I recall the disimpassioned way you spoke to me after I woke up, no different from your ordinary calm manner.

Perhaps you don't fully understand this. I wonder if you know how it feels to be scorched like that…electrified…

Have you ever even let anyone get close enough to show you?

"What is your conclusion?" you ask the other members of the team. I'm not stupid enough to think that you don't have ulterior motives for asking this, but I can't see ahead yet; I don't know where this line of questioning will lead. I can only hope it won't involve the footage of the bathroom.

Oh god.

"Well, isn't it obvious?" Aizawa asks. He flashes an understanding grin my way. "Light-kun has developed feelings for Misa Misa. We all knew it would happen sooner or later."

"I thought you said it was one-sided, Light," my father asks in shock, but he doesn't bother to hide the fact that he's pleased.

"I guess even if you couldn't admit to it while you were awake, your subconscious knew better, eh, Light?" Matsuda laughs and pats me on the back. I put on my best sheepish grin and sort of nod. I chance looking at you, because I know I can get away with it. It would be very natural to want to see your reaction, since you're the only one who hasn't yet spoken.

I am surprised by what I see on your face: relief.

"So you agree, then, that Light's dreams were centered on Misa?"

"Well, _obviously_, Ryuzaki," Matsuda pipes in, "who else?"

Your eyes find mine and I see enough awareness to convince me that Kira answered my prayers, because my heart has stopped.

Do you know?

How?

No, that's impossible.

Time returns to its proper rate and your eyes glance sideways with a carefully matured casualness. "I just wanted a second opinion to cement my own. If more than two people come to the same conclusion, then it gives the idea more credibility. Wouldn't you agree, Yagami-kun?"

I nod slowly, still not sure what you're getting at.

"Furthermore, I wasn't the only one to suggest that perhaps Light-kun expressed his true feelings for Misa through his subconscious, when he found himself unable to do so in his waking state. Do you also agree with this, Light?"

Your eyes are unblinking as you stare at me, obviously waiting for something. I nod again.

I have a bad feeling about this.

"Wonderful." The corners of your mouth twitch up in a small, self-satisfied smile. I recognize that look in your eyes that you usually get when you think you've won.

You turn around once more in your chair. My hand is jerked forward slightly as you reach forward to press the button on the screen yet again, and once more my sleeping image can be seen on the screen.

My voice is quiet and distorted, filled with pain, and a frown creases my forehead, but the words are still understandable: "_Yes, I am Kira_."

Damn it! Did _everything_ I say in my sleep last night come out of my mouth?!

You turn to me and raise your eyebrows in a silent dare.

You bastard. So that's what all this was about.

My eyes narrow. "I'm not guilty, Ryuzkai." You are so…indescribably _infuriating_!

"So you continue to claim, Yagami-kun."

"Just what are you insinuating, Ryuzaki?" Father asks curtly.

You look at him, and say, in the most falsely innocent voice I have ever heard: "Nothing at all. Merely pointing out how interesting our dreams can be. You did say we needed a break from all this serious business."

And with that, you turn back to the screen, bring up the file you had previously been searching, and eat the last bite of your strawberry cheesecake.

* * *

**Guessing Game Results**

Most Popular: _Illusion _(3, given by Kaiserin Tammy, Kerii-chan, and ghostsofanime)

My Favorite: _Iconoclasm_ (1, given by Lady Of Genesis)

Winning Word: _Innocence _(1, given by crazed yaoi fangirl)

**Clarification: Only three guesses per review. If you guess more than three, I'll only count the first three you give.**

The J word is also pretty easy, so no hints.

Thank you so much for all the reviews! Thirty-one for the last chapter alone! That's just mind-boggling.

* * *

I have a huge favor to beg! Please help an author out? Go to my profile and find the link to my fictionpress account. I've written a story called Blind Yourself. Read it and tell me what you think. Expand your horizons: it's still slash, but with original characters and plot! Pretty please? 

And yet another favor to ask: I am offering my services as a Beta. My only requirement is that I have to like your story. If you are in need, please PM me or indicate in your review for this chapter that you would like help. I can't do it for _everyone_, of course, but I can make time for one or two people who have stories with both potential and errors. I plan to pursue a career as an editor, so I'm trying to gain some practice now. You'd be helping me out just as much as I'd be helping you.


	10. Jealousy

_This chapter is dedicated to:_ Kyo and Sinclair, Fallan Phantem, izziexxx, Ryuuichi Mitsukai, xsuppixchanx, kai wood, Your Sweet Suicide, Tai Ping, and Adrienne Channing.

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**Jealousy** \'jel-əs\ ADJ _1 a:_ intolerant of rivalry or unfaithfulness _b:_ disposed to suspect rivalry or unfaithfulness _2:_ hostile toward a rival or one believed to enjoy an advantage _3:_ vigilant in guarding a possession

No one can waste time more efficiently than overworked investigators.

"I just think that maybe that's why you two are always suspicious of each other. It's some deep-seated feeling that you can't express outwardly. Just like in that video!" Matsuda says excitedly.

My father clears his throat. If we never mentioned that video again he would be absurdly happy. You also seem to be getting impatient with Matsuda, so naturally I decide to humor him. "What do think these concealed feelings are?"

Matsuda, unsurprisingly, draws a blank. "Well…maybe you're secretly jealous of each other?" he suggests. His sheepish grin makes it clear he really didn't think before he opened his mouth.

Still…_jealous_? That would imply that you have a desirable trait that I do not possess. Ha.

Time to end this. "Perhaps so," I admit reluctantly, shrugging my shoulders. This satisfies Matsuda—he's so easily amused, more like a child than a police officer.

I look over at you as something else catches his attention, and immediately notice your eyes boring into me. You've seen right through my fake display of humility, but it doesn't bother me; I'm just being polite. It's rude to brag.

You know that we are far too evenly matched—and far too mature—to feel something like envy, and this notion alone is comforting enough that I allow a small smile in your direction, unnoticed by the other people in the room. Just a private, secret smile shared between you and me.

You don't return it. Your eyes dart away. "Perhaps I am jealous of you, also, Light-kun," you say quietly, suddenly. Matsuda's cup of tea pauses halfway to his mouth, and the entire task force, including myself, stares at you slack jawed.

You don't seem to notice, continuing as if we aren't gaping, "Light-kun is a brilliant young man, gifted in many different areas; and he is attractive. Sometimes I do wish that I were Light-kun—" you look up at me "—if only so that I could be certain of his guilt."

Despite the jab, I sense that you are absolutely serious.

It's logical that you envy my physical appearance—who wouldn't? But we are evenly matched in wit and talent, and for you to mention such a thing indicates a desire to draw attention away from your true point. Therefore, I can disregard the first part of your statement and conclude that you're jealous of my looks.

It would make sense, except…you just don't seem like the type to obsess over appearance. God knows you don't make any effort to look nice—you wear the same outfit every day, even to important induction ceremonies, your hair is always untamed; and the dark circles under your eyes make it clear that you don't take care of yourself like you should.

So I must make another adjustment to your statement. I'm at least ninety percent certain that you're jealous of what my looks result in.

Attention would be the most obvious answer, but, again, you keep your identity hidden. I think you prefer being plain. If you were handsome like me, it would be difficult for you to remain anonymous. In combination with your idiosyncrasies, you would never be left alone. You are a private person.

So it must be that you crave the attention of one person in particular, and the only person I can think of who fulfills that requirement—attracted to me because of my looks—is Misa.

"Ryuzaki, do you _like_ Misa?" I ask hesitantly. You don't even have to look away before I know. "You do!" I can hardly believe it. It just seems so…normal. Not something I would expect from you.

Sure, you said you were jealous of me when you discovered that I was dating Misa, but I had just assumed you were using it as a cover to examine her. That time you stated, very bluntly, that you could fall for Misa, I thought it was your strange sense of humor.

Now I see why your behavior in those instances was so puzzling: you weren't acting. You tell me the truth so infrequently that a rare occurrence of honesty is easy to mistake for a trick; you keep your façade intact so effortlessly that when you drop your mask it just seems like another clever ploy meant to mislead me.

This explains the past two days, and why you would show that tape to the whole investigation team—I had wondered why it mattered to you to hear their opinion on whether or not I had fallen in love with Misa.

I can now see what spurred your sudden flare of vindictiveness—I had been staring at her dress throughout the entire visit, counting the polka dots to ease my annoyance. Of course you would think that I was eyeing the body under the clothes. Anyone would…perhaps even Misa did. She's severely ditzy most of the time, but she can't be completely oblivious. And, if she were to notice _anything_, it stands to reason that she would be particularly sensitive to a pair of admiring eyes.

And then, almost immediately afterwards, you had caught me in a very compromising situation. Your negative reaction is no surprise; almost justified, actually, especially after that dream…

You pin me with that suspicious look again, like you can hear my thoughts. Your face tilts at an angle until you're staring at me from the corner of your eye; I recognize that expression, even though it's muted by your characteristic apathy. It's the same look you gave me when I woke up after that dream: annoyed, but amused, and, as always, curious.

You blink and turn to face Mogi, who just said something, though I wasn't paying attention. Apparently, you didn't hear him either. "Pardon?"

"I asked if you looked over the details of that secondary school teacher that died yesterday."

Thank you! Finally, someone has enough sense to change the topic.

You blink at him. "Oh. Yamashito Toichi. He was old and had a history of heart problems. I entered the data into the computer, though I hardly think it's relevant."

"But don't you think it's just…I don't know, a bit _convenient_?" Matsuda puts in desperately. "It was a heart attack. Who do we know that uses heart attacks to kill people?" His voice

I laughed good-naturedly. "Sometimes coincidences are just coincidences." Shit, bad thing to say. I hate how I always have to watch my mouth—I can never relax and say what I want without censoring myself. "But we've followed through, so if there is a connection, we'll find it," I add, turning to you simultaneously only to see your eyes dart quickly away.

My father quickly jumps at the excuse I've created. "Yes, well, if you can handle it, we should be getting home. We'll see you two tomorrow." Oddly enough, the others are in no mood to argue. Apparently this is just as awkward for them as it is for me. Ryuzaki with a sex drive. God, how horrendous. At least they aren't handcuffed to you…damn lucky bastards.

Minutes later, we are once again alone. I'm somehow relieved that they're gone. It's too frantic with everyone around—I feel like I'm babysitting, dividing my attention between you and Matsuda, who always seeks my opinion on a potential lead…you would think him capable of nothing without me holding his hand. Even the presence of the others sometimes grates on my nerves, to the point where I count the minutes until they leave. I like it better when it's just us. It feels more productive, like we're accomplishing something. We work well together (when we're not fighting).

Eventually, the silence becomes unbearable, and I feel a strong desire to make small talk for the prime reason of erasing the conversation about Misa from my mind.

"My sister's birthday is in a week." I see your puzzled look and elaborate. "It was the cake that made me think of it. I should get her something." Again with the censoring—I can't say what I want to say. You get the hidden meaning anyway.

"You want me to free you so that you can buy your sister a birthday present?" you ask wryly, your eyebrows rising.

"Of course not," I say, acting offended—it's not hard to do, as nearly everything you say somehow manages to carry an insult in one way or another, "I know how important this case is, Ryuzaki."

"For someone so focused on the case, you seem to be doing a lot of chattering and very little research."

"I could say the same for you."

"Then perhaps we should get to work." A pause. "It's nice that Yagami-kun thinks of his sister when he's under so much pressure."

I roll my eyes, confident that you can't see me. You didn't even _try_ to veil your sarcasm that time.

"Just curious, Light-kun—do you think that Matsuda's earlier point is valid?"

"Yamashito Toichi? I believe I already stated my opinion."

I swear I just saw you roll your eyes at me when you thought I wasn't looking. "I believe you edited your answer, Yagami-kun."

In the exact same tone of voice, I respond with, "I believe you did, as well, Ryuzaki."

"I believe I can send Watari out for a gift."

The jump in topic only throws me off for a fraction of a second.

"It seems impersonal, don't you think?" I almost laugh. As if you could _ever_ be anything other than impersonal.

"It is too dangerous for us to go outside," you point out. "Perhaps you could order something over the Internet. We'll have it delivered to her."

"Then she would plainly _know_ how impersonal it was."

Then, unbelievably, you inject your suspicions right into the conversation. "Suppose, Yagami-kun, that the Yamashito instance is isolated and unrelated. What do you propose? Are you going to get her a cake?"

Two conversations running parallel at the same time—if you think this will confuse me, you're delusional.

"You make it sound as if cake is the solution for everything, Ryuzaki. I think we should be on the lookout for similar deaths. "

"Cake is never impersonal. In case you haven't noticed, Light, there are hundreds and hundreds of similar deaths." There's that damn sarcasm again, only hindered by your blank expression and flat voice.

"Non-criminals," I specify. You know damn well that this death is inconsequential, but I'll play this game with you. "The man _was_ very old. It could be coincidence. If a person doesn't like cake, then I would say cake would be an impersonal gift for them, as it shows no consideration for their likes and dislikes."

"Everything can be explained logically."

I raise an eyebrow. Oh, _that_ was clever. "Age must be taken into account. She needs to eat healthier anyway. It's likely that Yamashito died from high cholesterol."

You're silent for a moment, and I almost think I've won this pointless little game, but then you say, quietly, "I agree. Sweet things can be hazardous."

I frown. That was an odd wording, in either context. "Are you talking about Kira or cake?"

You shrug. "You tell me."

Now here's where I say: "Are you seriously using this conversation to psychoanalyze me?" I know the answer anyway, but I feel justified in getting offended at every opportunity, since you seem to take every opportunity to offend me. It's all part of the game.

You narrow your eyes. "How does that make you feel?" You bring your fingers to you chin and peer at me, and if I didn't know better, I would say this is your attempt at a joke, and a sorry one at that.

"Don't quit your day job. You'd never make it as a comedian."

"Are you trying to say that I'm not funny, Yagami-kun?" you ask tonelessly.

Are you serious? "Yes, that's exactly what I'm trying to say."

You nod, accepting this. You turn back to your work.

I notice that these past couple days, we don't seem to be getting much work done. Is it because we're bickering worse than usual? Or is it because—

What am I thinking…of _course_ it's because we're bickering worse than usual. Why else?

Sighing heavily in annoyance (why are my thoughts running rampant as of late?), I open the integrated writing program offered by the computer's operating system and switch the style to 'card.' As much as I hate to admit it, Sayu would probably love a cake for her birthday, but I resolve that she will at least get a personalized card to go with it.

I work for a few minutes, adjusting the font and the color of the text. I write a few sappy lines about how much I hope she enjoys her birthday and that I miss her and I'm still thinking about her even though I've moved out of the house, and insert an image of a birthday cake to finish it off.

The rattling of the chain alerts me to your change in position. How did I not feel you coming up behind me? Your presence, so close, makes the hair rise on the back of my neck.

I look up expectantly to see what you want, but you're looking at my computer screen. You smirk as you read the syrupy words.

"I don't think Light-kun should quit his day job."

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**Guessing Game Results**

Most Popular: _Justice _(10, given by StarRuby, samurai5725, Mika, blahblahblah, Sweetciel, Enma Ai, Purple Lurker, Shadow Vampiress, kero-phy, and Adrienne Channing.)

My Favorite: _Juxtapose_ (1, given by StarRuby.)

Winning Word: _Jealousy_ (8) See top of page.

Hint for K: Light reflects on his relationship with Ryuzaki. (I'm sure this is what many of you have been waiting for.)

Thank you for the reviews.


	11. Kythe

Okay…well, I must confess I made a booboo. It was supposed to kinship, but then I actually looked at the definition and decided it didn't fit. Sorry about that! But some people guessed it right anyway.

_This chapter is dedicated to:_ Kyo and Sinclair, CeeKari, and Endless Snow.

_And then there are people who deserve an honorable mention:_ SMALLwhitelies, kerii-chan, akira-sensei, AishiExcel, Elena, StarRuby, Croag, Enma Ai, izziexxx, xsuppixchanx, Adrienne Channing, Danielle Anderson, Promimo, Kyo and Sinclair, ghostsofanime, and professionaldooropener.

You'll find out why soon enough, if you haven't already figured it out. I think it's pretty safe to say that there will be OOCness in this chapter. Not as subtle as I would have liked it to be, but I suppose it's the best I can offer at four in the morning. Enjoy!

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**Kythe** \'kīth\ V to make known: to become known

Things died down after we had our little battle of the brains. Funny how we were so ill-tempered before; but once we got our routine clash out of the way we managed a productive conclusion to the workday. So predictable; so dependable.

Your taunts and sly suggestions; your suspicious observations.

My adamant denials.

Will it never end: this game of ours? This competition?

It's what is expected. We're pieces locked in to play by our decisions—decisions that we have no real choice over, as we always have to be certain people. You have to be L, the detective, and I have to be the main Kira suspect. If there were ever a candid moment between us, if you were ever able to see me as a person instead of a probable monster, then I don't know what would happen. The rules would be thrown out, and the game would cease.

As much as it irritates me…despite your constant gnawing, just like a rat, at my sanity and patience…I don't want the game to end. I love the challenge that you present, that only you have ever presented. Sometimes I almost—_almost_—wish I were Kira, or I hope that we won't find him. Because when you catch him, will I still be of any use to you?

You claim that I'm your very first friend, but that won't matter at all when all is said and done. Notwithstanding the questionable logic that your first companion is someone you believe to be a mass murderer with a god complex, you've spent your whole life distancing yourself from others, erasing all traces of your past, hiding your face and name from the entire _world_. Why should I be any different?

Yes, you'll disappear when this is over—that would be just like you.

It's a farce, this whole plot. The end result is set—either I'm pinned as Kira through some devious framing, or we find Kira and I lose the best cause I've ever fought for.

As we prepare for bed, I notice your interrupted movements. You barely move your torso at all as you walk, stiffer than usual. You can tell I notice, but it all comes back to our game: will I acknowledge it?

You have every reason to observe me, but I can't risk paying attention to your every move without seeming distrustful. I don't deny that I _am _distrustful…it's just that advertising it subtracts from my image.

But then again, I'm your _friend_, aren't I? There are advantages to that. I can use your own declarations against you to satisfy my curiosity.

Nonchalantly, I ask, "Ryuzaki, did you injure yourself?"

You don't miss a beat—you were expecting the question. "Yes, my vertebrae didn't agree with my sitting position today. Perhaps I slept awkwardly."

I hear what you leave unsaid: "because I was pressed against the wall to avoid your amorous groping of the sheets."

I can't bring forward much sympathy for you, after what you put me through this afternoon, but I watch your careful movements and I can't help but feel a strange resignation.

It's hypocritical of me to accuse you of feigning friendship as an excuse to extract information when I You claim that I'm your friend, but I can only be a friend to you if you want me to, if you _let_ me, and vice versa.

So I suppose that means I should at least make an effort.

And suddenly, this is more important to me than maintaining our cool connection.

Because I don't think I've ever had an equal, genuine friendship before, and I think it might be nice. Impossible, of course, considering the circumstances, but, at the risk of seeming idealistic, something perfectly acceptable to strive for. Perhaps even more so because nothing will come of it—just practice.

A voice in the back of my mind asks: practice for what? When will someone at your level ever come along again? Why should I need practice being a good friend when I doubt I'll ever find someone else interesting enough to give me cause to pursue a friendship with them?

So maybe this is just my attempt to make the most out of a rare opportunity. I'm fine with that as well.

Yes, I've made my decision.

But then there's always the other variable of the equation: you. How unfortunate that L is the single most cumbersome obstacle preventing my friendship with Ryuzaki.

Without regard or guesswork as to what your response might be, I ask the question on my mind, without editing or pretense, without forethought as to all the possible answers…this is as spontaneous as I'm ever going to get.

It feels liberating.

"Would you like me to help you with that?" A friend would do that, right?

Your hand stops its tender search along your spine and you gaze blankly at me. "No thank you." Your voice is flat and completely closed off.

"You'll hurt yourself more if you keep at what you're doing. I don't think your spine is meant to bend that way," I muse. Your very purposefully remove your hand from the collar of your shirt and replace it on your knee, turning your head and staring at me with one eye for the sole purpose of conveying your hesitation.

"A backrub won't kill you," I add wryly, because I know that's what you're afraid of. You never want to let your guard down, even for something as harmless as this. As if I would resort to such a method if I were Kira. I mean,_ really_. Death by backrub? How embarrassing would it be to have _that_ written on the headstone of the world's top three greatest detectives?

I can't help but smirk at the thought, and you take it to mean the worst.

"There's no need. I can manage just fine." To prove your point, you stand up. You don't wince—I've punched you in the face before and your only reaction was a toneless 'ow,' so this isn't surprising. Still, I'm not letting you get away this easily. I wait until you've stretched the chain taut, then I yank my hand, the one with the handcuff, behind me. I do it hard enough that your own hand follows the motion, and you have no choice but to change direction.

Unfortunately, I miscalculate—your inertia is considerably greater than I expected, and when you're forced to back step or risk getting your arm ripped off, your bare feet stumble over themselves and you fall back against my chest.

You stiffen in reaction to the warm and sudden pressure against your body…no surprise, really, as I suspect you've never been this close to a willing human being in your life. It's even uncomfortable for _me_, despite the fact that I've become obnoxiously accustomed to space invading leeches in these recent months….

I reach out a hand to push you away, and I hear your back crack at the application of force, causing you to stiffen for another reason entirely. That elusive wince makes itself evident.

"Perhaps your help would be required after all," you admit reluctantly, shooting me a scowl as if to say this is completely my fault. You sit down—I would say fall, but it's too graceful for that—on the floor and pull your knees to your chest, subsequently bowing your head. It takes me a second to understand that you're waiting for me.

I get into position behind you, only to find a brick wall where your back should be…completely unyielding.

"Ryuzaki, you have to straighten your legs. If you're tensed up, a massage won't do much good."

Your legs snap out straight in front of you. I can see the difference it makes in the muscles of your back immediately, even through your thin shirt. This would be easier without the garment, but I have absolutely no intention of requesting that you remove it. I'm not _that_ stupid.

Or maybe I am; "And you need to take off your shirt."

So eager to relieve the pain in your back, you don't even offer an argument; you just pull the shirt over your head, exposing your back to me. The shirt sheaths the chain, but you're not concerned with that.

I reach out to place tentative fingers on your shoulders, curling my fingers around and placing my thumbs on the pressure points I know are there. I rub softly at first, gaining confidence when you don't jerk away, until I've built up enough pressure to start to work at the knots.

You make an appreciative sound in the back of your throat, a small, barely audible noise that makes my hands and breath pause for a fraction of a second. Hoping you didn't notice, I continue, my hands kneading your back a bit harder, moving my hands lower to cover your entire back, not just your shoulders.

"That feels very nice." Your voice is so soft, almost a whisper, and I scoot closer to gain more leverage, bringing by knees forward, just inches away from your back.

In the sane corner of my mind, I recognize that I should not be this close to you, should not be touching you, should not, in fact, be leaning my face to the side, over your shoulder, to see that your eyes are closed. But what I'm doing and what I should be doing are two very different things, and I find that I prefer the former.

This is a dangerous move. I know this, and yet I don't stop. I'm playing with different pieces now, on a different board—I'm not even sure if I know what the game is anymore. My mind, usually calculating at a furious pace, is completely frozen. Nothing really matters at the moment.

Why?

Because you're _moaning. _It's such a low, soft sound, your voice feathery with a mixture of breath and noise, but I hear it all too clearly, though it's not something meant for my ears, and it's certainly not intentional; I would be surprised if you even knew that you were doing it.

It would be hypocritical for me to judge you on this, because I currently have no control over my own actions at the moment. I have no idea why, but my stupid, stupid hands smooth themselves across your skin like they can't get enough and my stupid, stupid eyes can't stop tracing the line of your neck as your head droops forward lazily because of what I'm doing to you, and suddenly I can't fucking _breathe_.

I jerk my hands away.

"Why did you stop?" you complain.

Why did I? I didn't want to.

"I'm sorry." I'm sure you can hear how heavily I'm breathing, but you say nothing. "Did you want me to keep going?" Say no say no say no…

Say yes. No, say anything but yes.

"That's alright. You've been a great help, Light."

I can tell that you're about to turn around seconds before you do. I have enough time to stop it. I know, even though I feel so strange right now…heavy and lazy and stupid…that I should move. I have absolutely no business being aroused right now, but I'm harder than a diamond, and I know that this is _not _good.

I don't do a damn thing.

Except for what I do after you've already turned around, after your eyes have gone wide at my unexpected appearance, after your mouth opens to ask the question I know you're going to ask. I reach out, one hand on either side of your face, and tilt your head upwards ever so slightly, at just the right angle.

Then I lean forward and brush my lips against yours.

I thought I was supposed to be intelligent? I feel like the biggest idiot in the world right now, because even though it's just a small kiss, just the lightest touch of lips, it's enough.

Enough for me to know that I've lost the game…a game I didn't even realize I was playing.

Fuck, why do I have to _know_?

Still in this mindset—half horrified, half content—my hands come up to settle on your shoulders and I push you away with all of my strength. And when you fall back onto the bed, wide-eyed and confused, I make a fist and punch you in the face as hard as I can.

**

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**Guessing Game Results**

Most Popular: Kiss (16, see above honorable mentions)

My Favorite: Kiss (16, see above honorable mentions)

Winning Word: technically, kinship (3, see above dedications)

Hint for L: After a relatively large amount of people guessed hate for H, I feel the need to say that the L word is _not_ love; also, it has a negative connotation.

Thanks for all the reviews! They're much appreciated.


	12. Lament

_For their correct guess of the title, this chapter is dedicated to:_ Enma Ai, StarRuby, Hybrid-Demon, Genki-Rei-Chan, and Satsukiyami.

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**Lament **\lə-'ment\ V: to mourn aloud: wail _1:_ to express sorrow or mourning, often demonstratively: mourn _2:_ to regret strongly 

**Lament **N _1:_ a crying out in grief: wailing _2:_ dirge, elegy _3:_ complaint

I can't believe I did that. Even with the evidence right in front of me, I still don't want to believe it, especially when you lift one hand to your cheek, gently probing at the skin to see how extensive the damage is. Your face remains stoic as you look up at me and say, "That hurt, Yagami-kun."

What? I just…_punched_ you, and that's all you can say? You don't even kick me, as I expect you to; you stare with blank, wide eyes, seemingly nonchalant although I know you're really searching my face for an answer, that mind of yours desperately whirring to come up with an explanation, any _possible_ explanation for what I just did. I can do nothing except stare back.

"Yagami-kun should get off."

And now my eyes are nearly as globular as yours, and I find it difficult to speak, only managing a strangled "What?" after several tries.

"Yagami-kun is crushing me," you say flatly.

Oh shit, I am. You're lying on the bed and I'm straddling you—this position is somewhat familiar, though in this case our places are reversed and the chocolate bar has been subtracted from the equation. I scramble back and make a point of smoothing down my clothes, surreptitiously watching you sit up and pull your knees to your chest. Your toes begin a wiggling dance that would almost be hypnotizing if it didn't look so freaking stupid.

"That was…unexpected," you say finally. Unexpected? Ha. This is a disaster. Honestly, what sick law of human nature allowed _this_, out of all things, to occur? I have no idea what possessed me to do that. I could claim temporary insanity…but I've used that so recently, and for such an important matter, that I don't think you would believe me. Obviously, if temporary insanity seizes a person on more than one occasion, it's not so temporary.

Right now, in this moment, I almost believe I might be insane, or that maybe I am capable of things I had previously thought myself unable to do. It's a strange feeling, awkward in its forcefulness and yet somehow exhilarating. I feel so powerful right now. Terrified, and powerful.

I'm sure that this feeling is due in large part to the look on your face…I don't think I've ever witnessed it before. It's an expression that doesn't belong: you're utterly flabbergasted. It's clear that you don't know what to say. You have absolutely no idea what to make of this new development, and you're allowing your perfectly schooled expression to reflect that so that we can avoid this conversation. Something I am eager to do, as well.

I readjust my posture so that I don't look nearly as ambiguous as I feel right now. This is possibly the most important information I've discovered in all my time as a captive, and I certainly won't divulge it to you. I keep my expression calm as I state, "I don't know what came over me Ryuzaki, and I am terribly sorry."

Your eyes flicker in surprise to my face. I try to keep a smug smile from my face. Are you surprised that I addressed it? You were hoping so ardently to ignore what happened, so that you can bring it up later and turn it against me, but now that I've made a preemptive move, you've been caught off balance.

I can feel when you've found something to say. Your face registers no change of expression—it's almost like a change in atmosphere that tells me you're about to speak. "You regret it."

It's not a question, but I treat it as one. "Yes," I firmly state, without missing a beat. We both know perfectly well you didn't need to ask that—we know that the answer would be yes either way.

There is silence, until finally you ask, "Did you enjoy it?"

I didn't think you would ask that, but I'm prepared for it. I let a flicker of emotion peek through my mask: partly disgusted and partly horrified. I almost bring my fist back for another punch, but then visibly rethink it: violence isn't always the best course of action, though it would, in this case, be extremelysatisfying.

It doesn't matter that what I show you isn't real, just that you believe it is. As long as you think that I had to restrain myself from punching you at the mere suggestion that I might have enjoyed it, then everything will go according to plan, and I'll avoid this mess. "_No_." I look you square in the eye. "It was just hormones."

Can you see the dishonesty in my face? I run a quick mental check. My eyebrows are slightly furrowed, but that's acceptable, because I'm supposed to be deeply disturbed. My breathing is regular, my skin is dry, and my throat isn't constricted. In total, there is nothing about my appearance that should suggest I am being anything other than one hundred percent truthful.

Slowly, still not entirely convinced, you nod; "Yes, hormones." It seems that you're willing to accept that for now. With one last skeptical glance in my direction, you climb onto the bed fully clothed and curl up into a fetal position on top of the covers. The abrupt dismissal leaves me stunned long enough that you turn back to me and prompt, "Come, Light-kun. It's time for bed."

I blink before the meaning of your words enters my brain. I'm not aroused in the slightest right now—that feeling disappeared as soon as I realized what I had done—but your peculiar wording makes me feel…well, peculiar. It is different from that sexual feeling…almost teasing.

Flirting, perhaps?

No. My brain, or perhaps another certain part of my anatomy, is supplying the double entendres all by itself. Once again, I remember the expression of clinical observation on your face when you viewed that security tape; you didn't seem to truly understand what was happening. You made crude jokes when I woke up, told me I looked like I was enjoying myself, but that could be taken to mean that it literally looked like I was enjoying myself. I can just imagine you watching me curiously, wondering exactly what made me writhe like that, unable to comprehend that kind of pleasure. You're not capable of flirting.

I had wanted to change my clothes before bed, but I suppose I'm to be denied that right. I'm too thankful that we skipped that particularly mortifying conversation to complain, and I slide under my blanket, keeping to the far side of the bed. I am almost asleep when your toneless voice interrupts the silence.

"This day has been long and hard."

My eyes widen. "What?" Then my brain catches up, deciphering what I _thought_ I heard. "Oh. Yes it has. I'm glad to be finally going to sleep." I'm glad that you're facing the opposite direction, so that you can't see my incredulous look. Are you really that oblivious—do you really have no idea of the things you say? Perhaps I'm just perverting your innocent statements in my mind. It's not unusual for you to attempt painfully awkward small talk as you wait for your body to get used to a horizontal position.

Thankfully, you take my hint and not another word is heard out of you. But once again, I can't seem to turn my mind off. I can't help but wonder what you would do if I tackled you the way you tackled me when I had that candy bar. I wonder what your reaction would be if I pressed myself against you, if I made you feel the things that I'm sure you've never felt before.

I quickly discontinue that train of thought. I don't want a reoccurrence of last night.

Instead, my ever-churning thoughts hit upon the knowledge that I was able to keep from you. The knowledge that could destroy me if you ever got hold of it.

I'm not sure I understand it fully myself. I'm certainly no expert at these sorts of things. I've studied many different subjects, but this one is one I never professed even the slightest interest in, assuming that I would have no use for it. Why waste time on such trivial knowledge when I could study something more worthwhile?

But I can piece together several facts, and pull them together into a single thought. That is a skill in which I am very accomplished.

I don't believe for a second you misunderstood my actions—they were as plain as day, unmistakable. No matter how virginal one is, people do not offer insignificant kisses, especially upon the lips. I kissed you, Ryuzaki, and you dismissed it. You let it go far too easily. Knowing you, that has to mean _something_. Your purpose may not manifest until later, but I've no doubt that you're biding your time, gathering clues until you have enough information to form a conclusive theory.

Maybe this has been your plan all along. Perhaps you chained us together, hoping this would happen. But what did you plan to achieve?

No, that's a ridiculous thought. I'm so confused right now that I'm grasping at straws. I don't care if my theory is wrong, as long as it's plausible…. Oh fuck. I'm turning into _you._

One thing is obvious; one thing is crystal clear. I realized it when I brushed my lips against yours and felt a thrill of heat that simply didn't belong.

This is entirely your fault.

It's a simple fact that boys turn to other boys in the absence of women. It's an act that occurs in prisons, in all-boy schools…there's really no avoiding that kind of desperation, no matter how depraved it may be.

But the thing I can't believe is that you've made _me_ this desperate, that by depriving me of my freedom, you've come that much closer to breaking me. I've never needed anything, especially not anything sexual, but now it's all that's on my mind. You have complete control over me. It hadn't sunk in until just now…until that kiss.

Yes, this is clearly your fault.

* * *

"Light," you say softly. It's almost a whisper, so I ignore it. I also ignore the strange feeling it causes—isn't this how my dreams last night began? "Light-kun, are you awake?" 

If I feign sleep, what will you think? Do you know that I'm already awake, and that's why you're asking? I decide to answer; "Yes. What are you still doing up?" I make sure my voice is slurred ever so slightly, and squint for good measure when I turn to face you and end up staring directly into the small book light you have clipped to the front of your shirt. This is most likely to help you read the papers that are strewn carelessly at the foot of the bed.

"That teacher…it made me think of something."

"What? Ryuzaki, we've gone over this."

But you don't even pause to listen to my agitated arguments. "Maybe we overlooked other possible Kira victims because they had a history of heart problems."

I sit up straight immediately. Not because the idea seems to have merit, but because I know that if _you_ think you might have overlooked something…well, then this is serious and requires my complete focus. I shuffle up near the head board and sit next to you so that I can look at the screen of the laptop. As if you had planned to do so all along, you close it. I give you an annoyed look.

"I've gone over recent heart attacks where the victims were model citizens—there were only two that are believable. The other four could have been involved in criminal activity without anyone's knowledge." You open the screen, clicking on a new tab before I can see what you didn't want to show me. An image of an old wrinkled lady pops up in a new window. "Agnes Clearwater, an American. 74 years old. She had been expecting to die for the past month, after she was diagnosed with a rare heart disease. She was very wealthy, and her estate was divided between her heir and several charities."

"But that's not a heart attack, that's a heart disease. Kira didn't do diseases," I say cautiously. I don't like where this is going.

You click on another tab, and the old woman is replaced by a picture of another woman around her thirties. "And this woman, Emma Boulangerie, a businesswoman from Lyon—she collapsed from a blot clot, though it was far from fatal and she was released from the hospital the next day. The medicines she was put on then caused her to have a fatal heart attack two weeks later."

Eerily similar, within such a short period of time. It's farfetched, it's _terrifying_, but…

"Kira can kill in other ways besides heart attacks?"

"I estimate there is a sixty-four percent chance of the answer being yes." You continue after a brief pause to let this astounding news sink in. "But you notice the hint of arrogance in the attacks in that they are still heart-related. Thus far, it would seem this Kira is different from the original, and even the second—a new Kira, but one that also wishes for us to know who is responsible."

"_Only_ us. That was too subtle for the regular police force. This is a deliberate taunt for L," I say. You nod in agreement, admitting that your thoughts were lingering around the same conclusion. I take another brief look at the screen before asking, "Who benefited from the Frenchwoman's death?"

"The business was taken over by her husband. No charities involved." You stare at me very intently.

"Did you run a search on any changes in her life before it occurred?"

"Yes. Nothing of interest."

"What about her familial relatives?"

You almost smile. I've hit upon what you were keeping from me. You pull up the file you hid from me before. "Her brother, Cedric Morceaux, lives in the Kanto district of Japan, and runs his own business—namely, marketing and advertising." Your eyes flicker up to meet mine. "He also donates to several charities."

"I'm guessing that Kira couldn't kill him because he needed him for something, so he killed his sister to put pressure on him. Or perhaps it was a threat and Morceaux didn't take it seriously, resulting in his sister's death." I pause. "Do you have a list of his clients?"

"Yes; also, one of the charities coincides with both cases. There is something suspicious about it, though."

"Let me guess…it doesn't exist," I state wryly.

"Correct."

I can feel myself becoming excited now. This is the best lead we've had in a very long time. I'm that much closer to proving my innocence to you. "Wonderful. This is wonderful, Ryuzaki!" I say happily, placing a hand on your shoulder.

Then, like a dash of ice water, I realize what I'm doing, and jerk my hand away. You seem unperturbed by my strange actions, closing down the various windows on your laptop as you unenthusiastically mutter, "Yes, very wonderful."

I need to gain better control of myself. I just need to remind myself constantly that if I don't keep this strange obsession to myself, I will be completely _destroyed_. It won't even matter that I'm not Kira.

Deciding that there's no longer a reason to be watching you (which I only notice after several minutes of doing just that), I promptly turn away from you and pull the covers over my shoulders. As big of a break as this is, it's only four in the morning, and when I haven't had enough sleep, my cognitive processes slow considerably.

"Light-kun, what are you doing?"

"Going back to sleep." Obviously. "We can deal with this in the morning."

"It is already morning. The alarm is set for an hour from now."

"Then wake me up in an hour."

I listen to the sounds of you closing your laptop. Have I truly won?

No. In the next moment my arm is jerked away from its comfortable position against my body as you get out of bed. I start to slide across the bedspread—I lost some weight in that jail cell, so it's easy for you to drag me around.

"Ryuzaki!" I complain.

"I am taking a shower, Yagami-kun. Unfortunately, my plans and your plans don't seem to be compatible."

Stubbornness is one of those few crutches that one may fall back on in times of need. You employ the tactic quite often. I manage to grab the blanket before you've pulled me too far. Outside the shower, you dial a number on your cell phone and I curl up on the floor, ignoring you as best I can. The other end is answered after only one ring.

"Please undo my handcuff, Watari," you say into the phone, and a second later, the metal band around your wrist snaps open. You thank Watari, slip off your shirt, and snap the cuff around your wrist once more.

I remember when you first showed me how to get the handcuffs off. I remember the dead feeling in my stomach…what if there's an emergency? But you just can't use a key like normal people. It would get lost, or I would find some way to fish it from your pants and free myself—I very consciously noted the sarcasm when you told me that, and thought it somewhat humorous at the time, but now I don't find it amusing at all. This way, you said, only you, through Watari, would be able to open the cuffs.

Once you've stripped your lower half, you step into the shower, filling the room with the constant pattering of water hitting the shower floor. The rhythmic beating soothes me and I can begin to fall asleep again there on the bathroom floor. I slept in a jail cell with my arms handcuffed behind my back for several weeks…this is almost comfortable in comparison.

I grunt in a mixture of pain and annoyance when my hand is roughly jerked upwards. Knowing you, you lifted your hand above your head on purpose, so that I would have to lift mine.

Two can play this game. I don't make it easy for you, instead letting my arm go limp so that you have to support the weight of it. You jerk the appendage in annoyance, but there's really not much you can do. I smile in victory. It feels good to be childish sometimes, especially when you're involved.

Despite this uncomfortable position, I still manage to fall into a sort of relaxed half-sleep, woken only by the sound of the shower door sliding open. I hear you move around the small bathroom, jerking my arm carelessly in whichever direction you go. I hear you call Watari once more so that you can put your shirt on, and then you prod me in the shoulder with your toe.

"It is time for you to wake up, Light-kun."

I ignore you.

"Light-kun."

I continue to ignore you, because unfortunately our plans just don't seem to be compatible

I hear the sounds of the shower door sliding open again, and then I hear a strange squeaking sound, and I realize what it is—the readjustment of the shower nozzle—a second before cold spray hits me.

I yell and jump right up, looking at you murderously.

You stare me down, and then, without looking away, delicately bring the cell phone up to your ear, and say to Watari, "Now you may unlock Light's handcuff for his shower."

* * *

Wow. _Long_ chapter. 3400 words. Yikes. But you guys were absolutely amazing with all of those reviews you gave me last chapter, so you deserve it.

There was a second half to this, that I took out for various reasons. It's no longer a part of the story, but if you'd like to read it for the hell of it, the title is Lament and it's listed under my stories on my profile.

**Guessing Game Results**

Most Popular: _Loathe_ (19)

My Favorite: _Lick_ (2, given by thenightwanderer and Zirra Nova) First meaning "to draw the tongue over," second meaning "to strike repeatedly; to thrash." I agree with thenightwander—Light seems like he's in the mood to do both.

Hint for M: All of you English people will probably get it, but in America it's not a common insult. I was half tempted to put 'marpion,' which my French teacher tells me is a depraved crab louse, but I figured none of you would guess it and I rather enjoy dedicating the chapters.

**_THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS! _**

More, please?


	13. Monkey

**Monkey **\'məŋ-kē\ N _1:_ a primate mammal with the exception of man and usually the lemurs and tarsiers; especially any of the smaller longer-tailed primates as contrasted with the apes _2 a:_ a person resembling a monkey _b: _a ludicrous figure: dupe _3:_ any of various machines, implements, or vessels; especially the falling weight of a pile driver _4: _a desperate desire for or addiction to drugs—often used in the phrase _monkey on one's back_; broadly used in reference to a persistent or annoying encumbrance or problem

I take considerably longer than you in the shower, savoring the feeling of the warm water as I lather the shampoo in my hair. It feels so good—I don't get the chance to shower nearly as often as I would like.

The door of the shower is transparent, only slightly warped to blur outlines, but really hiding nothing. I'm sure you had it installed to make sure I wouldn't try to kill criminals as I showered…as ridiculous a notion as that is. I can feel you watching me through the meaningless barrier, but frankly, I don't care. Nothing could bother me at the moment; this is pure bliss.

All thoughts of you disappear as I scrub my fingers against my scalp in soothing circles before tilting my head back to rinse. Next is the soap; the suds are thick, impossibly luxurious. I rub the bar over my chest, down each of my arms, continuing the lazy washing as I let my hands travel down my stomach, and lower, bending over to run the bar over my legs before straightening and stepping under the stream of water once more.

I set the bar of soap into the soap dish on the left; your bar of soap, still covered with a thin film of tiny bubbles from recent use, sits in the soap dish to the right. I know the placement was on purpose—you use any subliminal method possible to tell me that you know you're correct in your assumptions. Even your handcuff is on the right wrist, while mine is on the left.

I reluctantly turn off the water and slide the door open, met immediately with your ever-watchful eyes. I bring the towel to my face, patting away the droplets of water and then rubbing it through my hair to soak up most of the water before wrapping it around my waist and stepping out of the shower. I feel your eyes follow my movements the whole time.

You're always there. Your constant presence is something that I can never get rid of.

"Did you enjoy your shower, Light-kun?" you ask quietly.

I turn to face you. You're staring so intently, like you're just waiting for me to make a wrong move. What a smartass, asking me if I enjoyed a shower that I shouldn't even have been taking until a more suitable hour—seven, perhaps.

I nod anyway, pulling on boxers as I do so. I'm not shy, relative to most people, but it makes me uncomfortable when you stare. I feel vulnerable, a feeling that I hate more than anything, especially when it involves you.

Apparently my nod is insufficient, because you wait for me to say more. Finally, you decide that I will say nothing else, and turn to leave the bathroom (bastard…I'm not finished in here yet), throwing over your shoulder as an afterthought: "Good. We have a busy morning ahead of us."

* * *

A busy morning. Sure. This busy morning has come with a clever disguise, because to me it looks as if we are sitting in front of the computers, doing exactly what we do on any given day. The only difference I notice is that your coffee cup is unusually large today. It sits in front of you, dangerously close to the edge of the table. Your nimble fingers pick sugar cube after sugar cube from a silver tray and stack them next atop one another—I count seven before the pile finally collapses.

You scoop the cubes into your hand and drop them into your cup. You stir the mixture with a spoon and then bring the cup to your lips. I stare in disbelief.

There's no rhyme or reason to the amount of sugar you use. Sometimes I think you just stack the cubes until they fall, and that method decides how many you put into your cup…but occasionally you'll just keep adding sugar cubes. Endlessly. Until your beverage is more sugar than coffee. I've wondered if it's perhaps a compulsive habit of yours, that you add until it _feels_ right, and you can't stop until then.

"You use too many sugar cubes in your coffee, Ryuzaki. It's going to kill you one of these days."

"Yagami-kun phrases that as if he predicts my death from coffee," you say mildly in between sips.

I chuckle. "I'm not actually saying you're going to drop dead in front of a coffee cup." I say calmly and innocently. "That's just ludicrous."

You glance at me out of the corner of your eye. "Yes, I do hope my death is a bit more exciting…though I would not be averse to dying while ingesting cake."

I spend several long seconds trying to decide whether or not you're serious.

"So if you are Kira, and you can kill by means other than a heart attack, I would like to die that way."

We were having a conversation that almost bordered on pleasant, and then you had to ruin it. "That is not funny."

The corner of your mouth quirks upward. Apparently you disagree.

What a strange sense of humor…. How can you even joke about it? If you truly believe I'm Kira, that I want to kill you, how can you stand to call me a friend, stand to live so close to me, to sleep next to me? I don't understand it.

"I've been meaning to ask, Ryuzaki…what's the basis of your obsession with sweets?" The curiosity in my voice is unmasked, and natural. Now is as good a time as any to ask.

I see the conflict in your eyes as you try to ascertain my motives for asking the question, before finally asking me straightforward; "Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's girlish."

You slowly turn to face me in your swivel chair, bringing the coffee cup with you. You peer at me over the rim as you sip.

"I grew up in a place where it wasn't frowned upon for men to eat sweets. I am also isolated, as you know very well, and so I don't often have to worry about strange looks from others."

"But why sweets?" I ask. I would almost care to venture that I've struck a nerve, except for the fact that you don't look offended, merely amused.

You drain the contents of your cup. "They taste good."

"It's not very healthy." Why am I arguing? Perhaps I merely like how candid you're being…I want to stay on this subject. I want you to keep talking. Say anything. I need to know more about you—you know everything about me.

"If one is well-informed of proper dietary practices, one may eat whatever one chooses," you state dryly. Then, as if purposely taunting me, you pull the jar of hard candy toward you. I cringe at the sound it makes as it slides slowly across the desk.

You select one of the red morsels and pinch it between your fingers, holding it above your head and craning your neck back. Your eyes slide sideways to look at me, and I find myself, as always, hypnotized by your peculiarities…until you pop the piece of candy in your mouth.

I roll my eyes. You are such a strange human being. You behave as if you're in the Stone Age most of the time, hardly like an acceptable member of society at all. Not normal.

I'm overcome with the sudden image of the evolution from ape to man. Your hunched over posture; your wide, dark, sleepless eyes; your unkempt hair…you're one figure away from human.

It's hilarious to me. You've not quite finished evolving, Ryuzaki.

A monkey. I'm surprised I've never made the connection before, because the resemblance is uncanny. Your peculiar way of holding things, as if you might be germophobic…it's exactly the way a curious primate would examine an unfamiliar object. The way you sit, the way you move….

"Light-kun, why are you smiling at me like that?"

I break out of my musings, looking away quickly. I can't get rid of the grin on my face. I feel childish…and, surprisingly, I enjoy the feeling. _You're like a monkey, Ryuzaki._ I wonder how you would react if I voiced it aloud.

"Nothing." I can't help but laugh quietly to myself. "Just thinking about something."

Yes, there's something about you that's distinctly curious, childlike…deceptive, because I know you're cunning. But I can almost fool myself into thinking you really are innocent, with your large eyes and the way you hide almost shyly behind your hair. You do look like a monkey, but not in a bad way, certainly not. Not in an ugly way.

I feel certain that, if I were anyone else, and if I were unintelligent and couldn't find a better word to describe it, I would say that you're cute.

You rise to your feet, the movement halfway graceful and halfway awkward, like everything else about you. "I think it's time we paid Misa a visit."

I'm caught off guard. "Misa? Why?"

"She may be able to help us catch Kira," you say. You fix me with a stare, and I get the feeling that you want me to argue, but I don't know why. What are you planning, Ryuzaki? What do you want?

I stand. "Lead the way."

* * *

"Of course Misa will!"

"Misa, _no_. It's too dangerous." I glare at you. How dare you ask her to help with something that will surely put her life at risk? How could you ask her to do this?

Unbelievable. You're unbelievable.

"But Misa would do anything to help you, Light! Misa Misa loves you more than anything! It would make Misa happy to help you!" She attaches herself to my arm, her eyes closed, blissful that she can be so close to me. I sigh in frustration. You're to blame for this, I know…you shouldn't manipulate other human beings to use as you see fit…but why does she have to make it so easy for you? I don't even know why she's obsessed with me to begin with.

"It would make Misa happy to help you," you repeat. "Doesn't Yagami-kun want to make Misa happy?" I hate when you speak like that, almost in third person. Not only does it unpleasantly mimic the way Misa speaks, but you do it mostly when you're voicing suspicions about me…and you speak as if saying it aloud will make it any truer. 'Light-kun is my very first friend.' You sounded more like you were trying to convince yourself than any other occupant of the room, yet at the same time you were telling them…and purposely excluding me. Talking to me, yet talking about me as if I weren't there, as if I didn't exist. Everything about you is so underhanded, so manipulative. You constantly try to keep people uncomfortable.

You've chosen the perfect words, because now Misa is looking up at me with wide, hopeful eyes, as if she too would like to know if I want to make her happy. I can't bring myself to say no.

"And if you do well, you may take Light-kun on a date tomorrow," you add.

Misa becomes even more excited than before. "Without Ryuzaki-kun?"

"No, I shall still be present."

Her face dramatically falls.

I feel so relieved that you don't plan to leave me alone with her.

* * *

I wanted to get _something _posted, so this chapter is shorter than it was originally intended to be—the last half was difficult to write, so I'm putting it in the next chapter so I get some more time to work on it. Thus, a _lot_ will happen next chapter, and I think you'll be very pleased with certain events. ;)

Updates have been lacking lately because of that lovely thing called life, but I've gotten some things straightened out, and I'm on summer vacation soon, so update speed will improve then, and I'll get back to the every-two-weeks schedule I had going before.

**Guessing Game Results**

Most Popular: _Moron_ (10, given by MsBushido, camikaza, Enma Ai, izziexxx, Straitjacket no Tenshi, Zirra Nova, Ryuuzaki-hugs, Sweetciel, Samurai5725, Ukitake)

My Favorite: _Maladroit _(1, given by Duomi)

No winners. I guess I gave a really bad hint; sorry for that. I've only ever read of people calling someone a 'cheeky monkey' in fanfics with English characters.

**Thanks for the reviews. **I've set a goal for myself: 1000 reviews for the 26 chapters this story will have. I know, that's _a lot._ But I've done the math, and it seems like a realistic goal…aiming high, perhaps, but it's something that could happen if you guys help me.

If at least half of the people who have this on their favorites list, or at least a fourth of the people who have this on alert, review each upcoming chapter…I'll hit 1000 with no problem. If you read the chapter, and like it, then please review. Please help me reach my goal? I'll love you forever, and I'll write another multi-chaptered Death Note story, I promise.

Hint for N: Light tries to get rid of these strange feelings, with a little help from Misa.

Fun fact for the day: I typed this entire sentence using only my elbows.


	14. Nullify

_For their guess of the winning word, this chapter is dedicated to:_ glassneko, Na-kun is my anti-drug…, Jiia-chan, Enma Ai, Itallia, Straitjacket no Tenshi, _and_ Tayles.

_Honorable mentions for guessing a synonym mentioned in the definition: _Thorn of Lily, shadows, magalina, a is for action, Enma Ai, _and_ chousacamyou.

* * *

**Nullify **\'nəl-ə-,fī\ V _1:_ to make null, especially to make legally null and void _2:_ to make of no value or consequence. _Synonyms_: nullify, negate, annul, abrogate, and invalidate, which all mean to deprive of effective or continued existence. Nullify implies counteracting completely the force, effectiveness, or value of something; negate implies the destruction or canceling out of each of two things by the other; annul suggests making ineffective or nonexistent, often by legal or official action; abrogate is like annul but more indefinitely implies a legal or official purposeful act; invalidate implies making something powerless or unacceptable by declaration of its logical or moral or legal unsoundness.

We sit in the booth. You've removed the handcuffs for the occasion, but you still stick closely to me, even sitting next to me when one would normally sit on the other side of the table—we're garnering stares from the nearby customers in the restaurant. But I know that you can't sit across from me, because then you would have to turn around to see what's going on at Misa's table, and that would be suspicious.

As I watch, she enters the restaurant as planned and sits in the corner booth.

"What if he doesn't come?" I ask, more for conversation than anything else. These booths are too small for my liking…I'm free from the handcuffs, but I might as well still be confined, with you boxing me in like this.

You nudge my elbow with your own. "There he is."

My gaze flickers to the door of the restaurant, where a man is talking with the hostess. She leads him toward Misa's table, right past us, and I examine him closely: he's cleanly shaven, clearly Caucasian with sandy brown hair and light eyes. He stands out like a sore thumb in the busy restaurant.

Misa stands when he reaches her table, dipping forward into a polite bow. "Cedric Morceaux?" We can't hear his reply over the noise of the restaurant—the clashing of plates as the busboys clear tables, the clinking of silverware as people eat, and the general chatter of human conversation—but his voice comes through clearly on Misa's wire.

"Yes. Are you Misa Amane?" His Japanese is very good, with just the tiniest hint of smoothness to betray his accent. He waits for her to sit before he does.

She beams. "Yes. Misa is happy for your representation. Misa has heard such good recommendation for your company!"

"I'm glad to hear that. Exactly what kind of advertisement would you prefer?" he asks, congenial but still business-like. Straight to the point. I'm impressed.

He reminds me of my father, with his courteous attention and serious yet trustworthy face.

It's eerie that he may be a supporter of Kira.

Misa brings her hand to her mouth. "Oh, of course. Silly Misa Misa forgot. Morceaux-san must be a busy man."

"Yes, indeed I am. But please don't feel rushed. I give my complete fo—"

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Can I get you anything to drink?" I glance up sharply at the waitress, forgetting for the shortest moment that she cannot hear the voices in my ear and therefore doesn't know she's interrupting. My face relaxes into an affable expression.

"Oh, yes, thank you. I would like black coffee. And my friend here…" I glance over at you. Your face is characteristically blank, zoned out as you listen to Misa and Morceaux arrange a date when Misa can come into his studio to take pictures, and decide how best to market Misa and her talents.

I should order you black coffee as well and watch your expression of distaste as you taste it and discover its lack of sweetness. That would be very satisfying.

But fighting that compulsion is another, stranger one: to reach out and touch your shoulder, shake you from your concentration, and ask you what you want…just for the purpose of touching you. You seem so distant and untouchable, all the time. It's almost as if I need reassurance that you're there, and any excuse is acceptable.

My hand floats inches away from the loose white material of your shirt, and then falls away.

"He'll have coffee too. With lots of sugar, please."

"Alright. Two coffees, one with sugar, one black. Here's our menu. I'll be back in a few minutes with your coffee and to place your order." She smiles and leaves. Friendly girl. We should leave a tip.

I tune back in to Misa's conversation with the businessman. Just in time. "Who else do you represent?" she asks, almost flirtatiously. But this is the question, the important one.

"We have many high-end clients, Miss Amane. My agency is the most sought-after in Japan. I'm sure you've seen my work on billboards and signs all over the city."

"Oh _yes_, Morceaux-san, and Misa is very impressed! Forgive Misa—she doesn't mean to offend."

"Not at all, Miss Amane." Across the busy restaurant, I see him sit back in his chair, subtle body language that seems to suggest he believes the conversation is settled. But Misa, according to plan, continues.

"It's just that Misa thought it would be fun if she advertised personally, too."

He frowns. "What do you mean by that?"

"I think it would be nice if the public saw a more personal side to Misa Misa, to know and like her better!" she says enthusiastically. I can't tell if she's still acting or she's just getting caught up in the possibility of more publicity. "Not just a model and actress, but a person too!"

Morceaux glances around the restaurant, seemingly embarrassed at her loud outburst. "Yes, I think that would be a very good idea. Perhaps we can discuss it with your agent when we deal more concretely…contracts, signatures. Legal details. I'm sure you understand that I'm not prepared—"

"Oh but there is something very important to Misa Misa that she must have your support with _before _signing any contracts."

Next to me, I feel you tense slightly in anticipation, and I'm sure I have done the same.

"Yes? And what is it, may I ask?"

"Misa's parents were murdered, and Kira-sama punished the murderer. Misa would like reassurance that any support shown for Kira will not result in the cancellation of her contract."

I listen as Misa parrots the exact words you recited to her. I stop breathing, waiting for Morceaux's response—his answer will determine if this lead is even remotely significant, or if it's completely worthless.

Morceaux chuckles and I feel my muscles relax ever so slightly. "Ah, I see. Yes, Kira is a controversial subject. I understand your need for caution. My competitors refuse to represent those who openly proclaim their position concerning Kira, Miss Amane, but rest assured that Morceaux Marketing and Advertising does not employ that particular policy. You have nothing to be worried about. As long as you state that your opinions do not reflect those of my agency and its subsidiaries, we will have no qualms about representing you."

Misa nods. From the ambiguous expression on her face, I'm sure she's wondering if she did well enough to go on a date with me this evening. Still, she smiles and thanks him ardently, as you so instructed her if he happened to say he would represent her.

"It was delightful to meet with you, Miss Amane," Morceaux concludes. I watch as he stands and bows to her, but his next words are drowned out by the return of the waitress. My focus switches to the two cups of coffee she places in front of us, and the mound of sugar cubes she sets next to your cup.

"Have you decided what you'd like to order, yet?"

I open my mouth to answer, but, surprisingly, you respond with, "No, coffee will be all. Could you please bring the bill?"

"Sure." She smiles once again and walks away, and I glance over to Misa's table to find it empty. Alarmed, I look to you, and see Misa on her way over to our table.

"What happened?" I ask. I hate missing things. There is something empowering about being fully informed in all situations, and it irks me when I'm left out—which of course you never miss an opportunity to insure.

"Morceaux is a busy man; he had to leave. They set an appointment to meet in the future. It seems he's not opposed to the idea of supporting Kira. It doesn't tell us much, but it's a start."

"What do I do now?" She expects you to have the answers for everything. She can't even think for herself. Such a simpleton.

"Watari is sitting on the other side of the partition. He'll take you back to the building."

"But whh-hy!?" she whines. "You promised!"

"It seems that Morceaux also brought someone to observe your conversation with him, Misa. They are currently making their way over here to find out why you immediately came to speak with us after Morceaux left. I suggest you act like we are adoring fans and have Watari drive you back—we'll meet you there shortly for your date." You say all of this very quickly and quietly. I surreptitiously look around and see who you're talking about, two men that were sitting in the corner window are now heading to the front desk to pay for their coffee—and they're taking a very circuitous route that takes them by our table.

Misa nods. "Alright! It's always nice to meet fans of Misa Misa! Goodbye!"

"Goodbye Misa Misa!" you call after her…somewhat enthusiastically. You turn to me with a smile curling the corner of your mouth. "I'm so happy we got to meet Misa Misa. And to think I didn't believe it was really her…" A sigh. "You're better at faces than I am, I must admit." You stand abruptly, allowing you to turn your back to the men just as they pass so they cannot look back and see your face. "We don't want to be late for class…we should get going."

I dutifully look at my watch. "You're right." I stand and follow you out of the shop. I glance back when I close the door: the men have paid quickly and are now heading toward the exit.

"They plan to follow us," you comment mildly.

"Yes. Morceaux is awfully paranoid."

"Those who are paranoid are those who have something to hide."

I grit my teeth. What is that supposed to mean? Another jab at my supposed hidden identity? Or just casual observation? I can't decide, and right now I'm too concerned with the two men walking a steady twenty feet behind us to pay it much attention.

"We need to lose them," I say. "We can't let them follow us back to headquarters."

"Obviously."

"And _obviously_, they expect us to outmaneuver them in a predictable manner…a diversion, or confuse them so that they don't know which way we've gone."

"What do you suggest?" you ask.

"I suggest we do what they least expect. The _obvious_ solution. Hide."

"I agree, Light-kun. Right after we turn this corner, we have approximately eleven seconds before they turn as well."

Once I turn the corner, out of sight of the men behind us, I let my eyes wander quickly: a shop across the street, too far away to get there in time without speeding up our steps. I'm dismayed to find that this street is almost empty, just an unremarkable wall of brick on each side—though there is another street not too far away that we may have more luck with.

But just when I'm certain that this street will offer no good hiding places—just before time is up—I see a narrow alleyway, so narrow that I don't realize what it is until I'm a few feet away. Without stopping to think, I dart inside.

I feel ticklish tendrils across my face. Spider webs—how unsanitary. The alleyway is so narrow that it's uncomfortable, so I turn to the side. But I forgot about you. You hurriedly squeeze in right next to me, your back pressed against my front.

I realize that this was a very _bad _idea.

The friction. Oh god.

"Stop that!" I hiss.

You turn your face to the side, inadvertently shifting your body against mine. "Stop what?"

"Rubbing against me. Give me more room." I push at you a bit, trying to turn so that my groin—which I am _very _aware of at the moment—isn't pressed against your ass. I push you a bit harder than I mean to, so that, to balance yourself, your foot slides forward into view of the street. You quickly press back against me, trying to get more space, and your body is practically sealed against mine.

Oh god. I know you can feel that, but you say nothing. You just, much to my horror, press back further, and I understand why a few seconds later when I hear the approach of footsteps. They're coming. Fuck.

What do I do? Is there any believable explanation for why two men would hide in an alleyway, packed in like sardines to avoid being seen?

Yes, I realize with a sinking, horrible feeling of inevitability. There is, actually. Unfortunately.

With my right hand, I quickly grab your chin and pull your head back to rest on my right shoulder, relieved when it comes easily. Confident that your wild hair will obscure your features enough that you won't be recognized (who would recognize you anyway?) I then turn my head into your neck to hide my face as well, putting my left hand on your lower stomach, right above your waistband, to keep you from jerking away, as I sense from your tense muscles that you're dying to do.

"Moan," I whisper urgently into your ear.

"What?" you ask stupidly.

I bite your neck and you let out a gasp. "Moan, dammit," I whisper fiercely, dragging my fingernails against the skin of your stomach below your navel. And you do. Loudly and exaggerated, though anyone who knows you would be able to tell it's so fake, because that sound (god, that _sound_) just doesn't belong to you in any way, shape, or form. That sound is the opposite of everything you are—it's fire and feeling and lack of inhibition. And it's utterly perfect. For what we need to accomplish. I moan, too, my low voice combining with yours, our obviously male voices creating a strange harmony.

The footsteps pause in front of our crevice. With my face turned away and hidden, I feel more than see the shadow, but it quickly disappears after a mumbled, disgusted apology.

"What was it?" I hear another man ask.

"Nothing important," the first one mutters quickly, and I hear them moving away.

When the voices fade and I'm sure it's safe, I push you away and step out into the alley, relieved when no one is waiting for us.

"That was a risk, Yagami-kun." You're telling me. "They could have reacted in numerous ways…violently, perhaps."

"They're security agents, probably in a hurry to get back to Morceuax—why waste time with a gay couple looking for a place to be alone? They don't want to call attention to themselves," I contradict emotionlessly. (Inside, I'm a storm.)

"But we did call attention to ourselves." You gesture to a woman in the shop window across the street who is staring at us with a furrowed brow and dropped jaw. Judging by the angle, it's probable that she saw us in the alleyway. I sigh.

"We should go back to the café."

"Yes," you agree. "Misa did very well. I'm sure she'll be happy to go on her date with you tomorrow." It seems odd the way you quickly switch the subject to Misa. I'm sure it's that jealousy returning. Who would ever guess that the three greatest detectives in the world would fall for someone as possessed by idiocy as Misa? I suppose it's true that opposites attract.

That saying will be of use to me.

"I can't wait," I murmur. I think you sense my sincerity, my lack of sarcasm, but I'm not sure.

You're silent for several long moments. "I thought you said it was one-sided." It's said far too carefully to be casual.

"She risked her life for me. Perhaps her feelings aren't superficial, as I thought they were," I state calmly.

"Perhaps," you echo. We walk several meters in silence before you suddenly say, "That was a very quick reaction, in that alley, Light-kun."

I immediately scoff, too ashamed to properly panic. "You're male too. Something rubbing against you so insistently…you wouldn't react?"

"Perhaps." More silence. "However, I was referring to your quick thinking."

I nod. My throat has quit working, and is good for nothing more than gulping audibly.

You remain silent the rest of the way back to the restaurant.

Is it suspicious that my first instinct was to pull you close and act like we were lovers? What is going through your mind right now? You can't possible think that…. No. That's ridiculous. It was a perfectly logical plan, and it _worked. _There is no reason for you to overanalyze and see that which does not exist, as you are so fond of doing. Because nothing does exist. There is nothing to see.

But am I not now overanalyzing? Why am I paranoid if there is nothing to be paranoid about.

_The friction…_

_Stop_ this. I need to stop this.

No. What I need to stop is resisting.

_No. _What I really need to get rid of is my stupidity. I've been approaching this the wrong way. Obviously, I want you, for some unexplained reason. Somehow, my mind is attached to the idea of attraction—but clearly it's not you that I'm attracted to. You've been a constant for these past few months—it's only normal that I attach myself to _someone, _and you happen to be the only candidate. Therefore, in order to rid myself of these ridiculous notions, I need only to attach myself to another, more suitable and easily controlled venue.

And for that, I need Misa.

* * *

**Guessing Game Results:**

Winning Word: _Nullify_ (7)

Honorable Mention: _Negate_ (6)

Most Popular: _Naïve_ (9)

My Favorite: _Narcissism_ (3)

O is pretty obvious, I think. So no hint. And just a reminder: only three guesses per review.

* * *

Eeurggh…sucky chapter. Sorry.

No, I have not abandoned this story, and _will not _abandon it, no matter what. I pinky swear.

Please continue to help me with my goal of 1000 reviews, even though I suck with updates. I just moved for the third time in as many months, and I no longer have Internet, but I still read every review and appreciate them all. Next update should be Early November-ish (after my college applications and standardized testing are all finished). Thank you!

Something to Think About: We've heard it many times, from those who are young and old, male and female, heartbroken and blissfully happy…everybody who has ever experienced it, and even those who have not: _you never truly understand the worth of something until it's no longer there_. Specifically, you never realize how freaking awesome toenails are until you lose one. So appreciate your nails, dear readers…and wear shoes when you move furniture.


	15. Obsession

_For their guess of the winning word, this chapter is dedicated to: fouloldron, ChibiEii, x.MissK.x, Paws, Amber Spirit, Ever1, The Aquatic Chewbacca, LXLIGHTLOVER, narcissus in theory, eee, Too lazy..., shadows, False-Image, moony the chupz, Sibur Nightlust, Mariecool, ReidMorgan, Dawn-at-Midnight, ahou incarnate, Blessed Obsession, Teneo Vestri, Lord Divergece, Solowren, magalina, Wammy's House. I may have missed somebody. Sorry._

* * *

**Obsession** \äb-'sesh-әn\ N _1:_ a persistent disturbing preoccupation with an often unreasonable idea or feeling; broadly, a compelling motivation _2:_ something that causes an obsession

We arrive back at the hotel without incident. Misa is busy getting ready for our (I try my best not to wince from thinking it) _date, _which, she emphatically proclaims, will take _at least_ two hours. She tells me in no uncertain terms that she expects me at her door precisely at six. So that we can have "as much time as possible!"

She not-so-subtly hints at an extended "date" _afterwards._ I not-so-subtly _decline_.

Then it's blessed silence as you and I return to our room to mull over this new information.

We were followed out of that restaurant. We both know that means something.

Many enterprising businesses tow along bodyguards. But we both know this isn't ordinary.

You search your database, fingers tapping delicately at the keys, barely touching one before that finger moves to another, like pale, long-legged spiders dancing on the board.

Almost..._almost..._beautiful. Graceful, maybe.

After many silent moments, and after I have hit a dead end in trying to track Morceaux's accounts -- it's not difficult, but lengthy. I don't have enough time right now, with the threat of Misa's date looming so presently -- I finally break our concentrated silence.

"This doesn't fit the pattern: others were killed because of their criminal activity," I point out.

You nod. Your eyes are not focused on me, instead seeing something else. Sometimes I wish I could read your mind...see inside your head. What would I find, though? Thoughts, words? Or something else...? Something more complicated.

I wonder if you think in numbers and statistics, Ryuzaki. If your entire makeup is just a binary code of ones and zeros. If that's all you see when you look at me.

Just data.

You open your mouth, the first time you have done so in the past hour -- my attention darts at once to the tiny wrinkles in your dry lips, as they twist and flow with speech: "We may therefore assume that these people were not killed for that purpose, and, because they were of means, they they were killed so that someone could monetarily benefit from their deaths."

I look back at the screen. "So the obvious question is..."

"What does Kira need Morceaux for?" you finish quietly.

"Well, he must be the client of several high-end businesses," I reason. I shift in my chair. This feels like dancing. Sharing. When we shoot hyphotheses back and forth, churning and combining thoughts. I shift again. "They both donate to a charity. The charity happens to fund the support of Kira. At a certain point, coincidences cease to be coincidences."

You look up at me. Your head tipped down, dark eyes peeking under dark lashes and dark hair. My throat goes dry. "Indeed." Your voice is low and silky smooth, but you're not fooling anybody.

I realize what I just said. How could I not? I knew how you would react; I knew the track your thoughts would automatically take. I did it anyway. Who is baiting whom in this game of ours?

And if I'm just going through the motions for the sake of it -- saying things just because I know they'll get your attention and relieve the boredom...

Well, what are you doing?

I know you're stubborn, Ryuzaki, but this...

This is _obsession_. And obsession isn't a casual thing. Obsession is everything I am reluctant to associate with you: passion, energy, emotion. You...you're nothing but blank tenacity. Except for this. You just can't let it go, can you? You _want_ me to be Kira. Just so you can prove you're right. Because you just _can't handle being wrong._

I scowl, refusing to look away, refusing to respond. I'm angry. Not because of your beliefs, not just that anymore. It hardly seems to matter, now, whether or not you think I'm a mass murderer. Insanely, that's just a _little_ detail. Almost insignificant...just a tiny little piece in the larger scheme of our relationship.

No, I'm mad because...

Because...

Because maybe I can't handle being wrong either.

This impromptu staring match makes me squirm when your finger moves to rest lightly on your bottom lip. Suddenly your eyes lose my attention, and the only thing I can focus on is the way your fingertip slowly, ever so subtly, moves over the pale skin of your lip, back and forth in a minute yet dizzying caress. I swallow hard when the tip of your tongue, pink and glistening, flicks out to touch your fingertip --

When suddenly you draw it into your mouth and gently _bite _on the end.

Because..._maybe..._

You continue, "We know that he can control a person's actions before they die...the experiments with the prisoners have shown that. Perhaps this Agnes Clearwater was made to arrange in her will the posthumous donation of a large sum of money to the foundation." The quirk and pull of your lips around your finger is mesmerizing.

"And Morceaux?" I rasp, only belatedly clearing my throat to cover it.

"Perhaps he isn't under Kira's influence at all."

Ridiculous. I open my mouth to disagree, my eyes shooting up to yours.

"In the way that will get him killed, at least," you amend. "Perhaps he is operating under the influence of good old-fashioned blackmail. In that case, he may know who Kira is. We have the name of the charity, but while it is listed, there is merely a name, no bank records." The look in your eyes in more challenging than usual. You don't continue; you're waiting for my inference.

"Which mean he must deal directly with whoever it is," I conclude. I lick my lips, debating for half a second whether to say it, whether to go there. Ah, why not? He's thinking it anyway. "Perhaps he even _is_ Kira, and he killed his own sister because she was somehow getting in the way."

You stare at me for a second.

Did I say something wrong? Suspicious? Your eyes flick away and I can't tell. "There is no clear answer at this time." It is only a second before I notice your eyes have moved to the clock. "I believe you promised Misa a date, Yagami-kun."

"_You_ promised her," I remind you scathingly.

Your face when you look back at me is far too innocent. "And I believe you are late."

You're right. Dammit. This is the last thing I need today.

* * *

The knock on Misa's door, which resounds back to my ears in the hallway, sounds distressingly similar to...doom. In its purest, most undiluted form.

Yes, this night will be hell. _Why _did you suggest this?

Why did I agree? Surely we didn't need her help this much. I was under the impression that you were intelligent enough to handle a suspected murderer...how the hell is it possible that you found _Misa_ more qualified than yourself?

You clearly did it _just _to torture me. And you know I'm fully aware of this, if your sly grin (oh yes, you may think it's indifferent and blank, but I know what you're hiding) is anything by which to assume.

"Liiiiiiiiiiiight!!" I'm suddenly forced backwards as a great weight tackles me head-on. I manage to steady myself seconds before I topple over, to find Misa rubbing her face against my chest, her entire center of gravity magically switched from her body into mine.

Well, she would say I'm the center of her universe, anyway.

"Where would you like to go, Misa?" I ask politely, trying to draw her attention. I glare at you as I say it.

Let's face it, Ryuzaki, you always, without fail, undermine my efforts to let her down softly. You encourage her. It's as if you have no qualms at all with playing with this girl's mind. I've been brought up to realize that toying with a person's affections is altogether indecent.

Something that _you _clearly never saw fit to learn.

"Misa wants to eat at a pretty restaurant, and then she wants dessert -- ice cream! Chocolate ice cream! And then she wants a movie. I _loooove_ movie...and she wants to hold Light-kun's hand the whole time, and she wants to lay her head on Light-kun's shoulder, and she wants..."

I listen with patience, but with a distinct lack of attention. I'm sure I'll find out soon anyway. It's for her benefit that I let her tell me all about it beforehand. Maybe it will help to relax her.

"May I suggest we visit the dessert shop _before"--_

_"_Now, now, Ryuzaki," I interrupt with a smirk. "Let's not forget, this is _Misa's _date."

Your eyes lock on mine.

I stop breathing for half a second, before Misa interrupts with one of her trite, predictable assents, and starts to pull me toward the elevator. I'm able to break the stare at only the last possible second, and I feel the chain between us tighten before it slackens -- you're following.

My lungs react so strangely to this knowledge. In one way, I'm relieved you'll be there, and I can breathe deeper. Relaxed.

In another, having you behind me, knowing -- just _knowing_ -- you're so close, and that you're watching me...it makes me want to breathe faster and somehow not want to breathe at all.

* * *

I sometimes used to think of torture. As an idle pastime, not in a morbid way; I just considered it in the way those with lesser minds may consider other, more commonplace musings. I used to wonder: what would the surest method be? People have experimented for decades, centuries. I was confident, of course, that my way, should I seriously consider it, would be most sufficient. I was sure I could devise something so horrific that the mere mention of it would have people dying to spill their innermost secrets.

Though of course I would never put these plans into action, because such a thing would be unjust.

But, now, as I sit across from Misa in a small booth at a cozy diner (because clearly smaller is more romantic), I am forced to concede that Misa is, in fact, more of an expert at torture methods than I could ever imagine myself, or anyone else, being.

It is _not_ helped by your palpable presence behind me. She purposely chose this two-seated table, forcing you to sit in the next one over. You are turned sideways in your chair.

I can feel you breathing down the back of my neck.

Once more, the chain has been removed to avoid public suspicion, but that doesn't mean you're letting me out of your sight for even a moment.

And I'm actually glad. You provide a welcome distraction from Misa's almost painful chatter.

It seems like hours (and at least 5 sugary desserts) later that we leave the diner and cross the street to a theatre. Misa chooses the most obnoxiously romantic movie offered and we wait in the concession line while you buy your lion's share of sweets. The woman behind the counter gives you a bemused look, just shy of mocking -- good, she can tell it's all for you. I order a soda for myself. I'm too busy watching you gather your packages to notice what Misa buys, though, of course, she squeals the order and grips more tightly onto my arm. I gather this means I'm supposed to be excited, and I look back to her and smile. She's easily appeased.

We make it into the theater just as the beginning trailers start to run. Misa hurriedly ushers us into a row somewhere in the middle aisle. Her first, pulling me after her with an iron grip on my shoulder. You shuffle in after, crinkling and rattling with every small shift of your body because of your surplus of sweets. People stare; girls hide their giggly smiles behind their hands.

You fall into the seat beside me, dropping a few boxes to the sticky floor. I feel her fingers lace through mine and settle in for a long two hours.

During a slow part of the movie, where the heroine is having a personal crisis and the male love interest hasn't been seen for at least five minutes, I sense movement near me. I prepare to ward off Misa's advances, but find that another, all too familiar hand, finds its way to the shoulder opposite where she is resting her head.

I turn to find your face inches from mine.

"What is it?" I murmur softly. I actually think Misa may be asleep. I had _thought _it was strange that she had stopped her excited babbling.

"I have to empty my bladder," you reply. You bring your cup -- the largest size they offered -- up near your face and give it a good shake. I hear the rattle of ice, but no slosh.

It's empty.

"And you want me to come with you," I surmise.

"I must supervise you at all times."

I glance down at Misa, slumbering peacefully. This is the only state in which I can actually tolerate her. _Why_ did you have you ruin it?

"Can't you hold it?" I grumble.

You lock eyes with me in the darkness of the theater and pointedly shake your cup again.

"Okay, fine. Just give me a second."

I take much longer than a second to gently slide her head from my shoulder onto the back of the cushioned seat. I pull my fingers from between hers; thankfully, her grip had slackened in her sleep. By the time I'm free, I can definitely feel your impatience in the way you start down the aisle, looking back at me to make sure I'm following.

You hold the door to the restroom open so that I can enter first, and then hurriedly stnad in front of the urinal to relieve yourself. I pretend to be invisible the whole time, but I can feel your eyes on me the whole time regardless.

Like NOW is the time I'd choose to mass murder Kira-style. In a men's restroom while your zipper's down.

Almost as soon as I think it, my eyes flick downwards. I catch myself just in time.

No. _Not_ going there.

I turn back to the wall of sinks, noting in my peripheral when you finish and move toward the sinks. My eyes flick down again -- just an obligatory once-over to make sure you remembered to zip, I tell myself. You _are _spacy, sometimes.

All's well, and you take your time washing your hands. I decide to wash my hands as well: public restrooms are disgusting. Just being in one makes me feel contaminated.

You once again hold the door open for me.

When we quietly shuffle through the aisles towards our seats, I immediately spot Misa, urgently scouting the area. She smiles widely when she sees us -- me.

"Light-kun!" she hisses when I return to my seat. "Misa Misa was worried! She woke up and you were disappeared!"

"I'm sorry, Misa. Ryuzaki needed to use the restroom."

I don't miss the way her eyes narrow and focus on you suspiciously. But then she must decide that she understands the necessity of this, because she doesn't remark further. But still, she doesn't let it go entirely:

"You missed the best part, Light-kun! Tsuki and her friend were arguing over Hatori. It was horrible!" She launches into a vague description that leads me to believe she wasn't paying very good attention. Or she's very bad at describing things -- wouldn't surprise me either way.

* * *

With the movie over -- by the grace of some unseen power, Misa didn't try to take advantage of the dark and semi-seclusion of the theater more than once -- we leave the theater and begin our walk to a small pastry shop on the corner.

This is, of course, your idea.

It amazes me that you have any _room _left in your stomach.

As we walk, Misa claims my arm and matches her steps to mine. You take up a more subdued position behind us, but I can feel your eyes on the back of my neck.

It sends shivers down my spine.

I want to look back so badly. _So _badly. The desire consumes my entire being, until I feel my muscles twitching, already anticipating the movement.

Ridiculous.

I am in control of my own body.

I am in control of my own body.

I am in control...

This is ridiculous.

I want to turn around, slow my pace to even with yours. I _want to_.

So, instead, I lean down and whisper into Misa's ear.

"Did you have fun tonight?" I ask. I purposely let my breath brush past her cheek. She lifts her eyes to mine and smiles serenely, a pretty blush on her cheeks.

"It was perfect, Light-kun! Misa Misa can't wait to do it again." She keeps her voice low, almost husky, as if she senses my need for privacy. I can almost feel you get closer, in order to hear what we're saying. I smirk.

"I'm glad. Tonight was all about making you happy. To show how grateful we are for your help."

"All Misa Misa wants is you," she replies.

_All I want is you..._

_All of you..._

I shake my head to rid myself of the thought.

Ridiculous.

"Misa," I say regretfully. I don't want to ruin her night, but I don't want to lead her on. "You know this is _just_ a show of gratitude, right? Nothing has changed between us."

She sighs.

"Light-kun knows how much Misa loves him. That will never change. And maybe someday, someday, Light-kun will realize that he loves Misa too." She looks up at me with a quirk of her dark-red painted lips. "I know he will. After all, Light-kun is so smart."

I look away. She's such a tenacious little thing. She's going to get her heart broken. She just doesn't understand: I can't love her. She's all wrong for me. I need challenge. I need intelligence. I need...everything she can never be. But how can I say this without destroying her?

"Why do you like me, Misa?" I whisper quietly in her ear, even more quietly than before.

She phrases her answer as if it's the most obvious reason in the world. "Because Light-kun is perfect in every way!"

I sigh. She just _doesn't understand_. "It's like I woke up and suddenly I was the center of your world. I don't believe in love at first sight." I make impressions of a person right away, judge their character, but love -- that's such a strong feeling. I don't think it's possible...

My thoughts trail off, hit by a memory so vivid that it might have happened two minutes ago.

I sat at my desk, preparing to take the To-oh entrance exams, confident that I'd do well, when I heard the administrator's rebuke and turned back to see; I remember the moment I first met your eyes. I felt a strong surge of..._something_. Repulsion, probably. Unease. The way you stared at me, the way you sat.

Whatever it was, it was certainly intense.

Perhaps...perhaps I don't have the right to lecture Misa on her emotions; because, after all, _I_ can't explain why I took such an instant disliking to you.

Are these reactions innate, left over from the days when humans relied on their instincts to survive? Yes, that seems plausible:

I _instinctively_ knew what an ass you'd be.

There's no concrete method to disprove that Misa "knew" I would turn out to be the man of her dreams, though I doubt the accuracy of Misa's instincts in any case.

"You know what? Let's talk about this later."

She smiles and nods, blissfully content. She leans her head against my arm once more.

I look back to see your dark eyes trained on us.

And then my eyes slide past you, to the two men following us.

* * *

**Guessing Game Results:**

Winning Word: _Obsession_ (25)

Most Popular: _Oblivious_ (13)

My Favorite: _Ostentatious_ (1, Lan)

(EDIT: I forgot to give a hint!) Hint for P: Uh...they're _chained _together.

* * *

As I said before, I won't abandon this. Thank you all so much for sticking with me despite the insanely (in_sane_ly) long time between updates.

I don't know if they have movie theaters in Japan. Or diners. I actually know nothing at all about Japan. Please excuse my ignorance. Also, please excuse any mistakes. I really didn't take the time to look over this for errors before I posted.


End file.
